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Bram of the Five 
Corners 


By 

Arnold Mulder 

It 

Author of “ The Dominie of Harlem ** 



CHICAGO 

A C. McCLURG & CO. 

1915 


Copyright 

A. C. McCLURG & CO. 

1915 



Published April, 191f 


APR -5 1915 

,4 / > 

91. JI. l|aU Prtntins (Da.. (Dljuaga 

©CI,A397501 


CONTENTS 


CHAFTEE PAGE 

I Rebuilding the “ Lofty Rhyme ”... 1 

II The Death of a Hope 16 

III The Birth of Ambition 25 

TV Oom Bartel 38 

V The Birth of Love 50 

VI Hattie . 64 

VII “ A Tale that is Told ” 77 

Vin Ghosts 91 

IX The Engagement 105 

X Bram’s First Stand 118 

XI Cordelia 131 

XII On Firm Ground 14)4 

Xin A Flash of Light 157 

XIV The Encroaching Shadow 174 

XV The Law of Life 183 

XVI The Clash of Ideals 193 

XVII Blood Lust 207 

XVni Weighed and Found Wanting . . . 223 

XIX The Voice that Said “ Amen ” . . . . 239 

XX No Balm 253 

XXI Readjustment 267 


VI 


Contents 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXII A Discovery 2S2 

XXin Revelation by Telephone S94 

XXIV The Tragedy of Chance 308 

XXV In the House of Death 3S1 

XXVI The Supreme Renunciation .... 334* 

XX Vn No Fighting Chance 346 

XXVni Following the Gleam 359 


Bram of the Five Corners 



BRAM OF THE FIVE 
CORNERS 


CHAPTER I 

REBUILDING THE “ LOFTY RHYME ’’ 

I T was a large de luxe edition of Paradise Lost, pro- 
fusely illustrated with Gustave Dore’s angels and 
devils, that first lured Bram into Dominie Wijnberg’s 
study. As soon as the minister had arrived at the 
Meesterling home, Vrouw Meesterling had taken him 
under her solicitous wing. On her beautifully homely 
face ready sympathy had dawned as soon as she had 
seen that the man who had come to the Five Corners 
to lead the flock was more in need of comforting than 
the people he had come to serve. 

‘‘ Bram, mijn jongen,^' she had said, you must not 
bother Dominie. He needs rest. You must not bother 
him with your questions about books and such.” 

And Bram had promised faithfully that he would not. 
But several times, as he passed the open door of the 
study, the sight of the large edition of Milton with its 
deep maroon covers and its gilt lettering, attracted him. 
It graced the minister’s ‘‘ center table,” on which it 
reposed in lonely splendor. Always that book was like 
a magnet to Bram. He had read The Prince of India 
[ 1 ] 


2 


Bram of the Five Corners 


twice, and an unread book in the house would leave him 
no peace. Oh for the privilege merely to feel of it! 
His fingers itched for the touch of it, as a klepto- 
maniac’s fingers are supposed to itch for the touch of 
gold. 

Dominie Wijnberg surprised something of all this in 
the face of the boy one day when Bram was casting a 
covetous, long-distance look at the volume. 

“Won’t you come in, Bram.?” asked the minister, 
who had been strangely attracted by the lad. He spoke 
in Dutch as a matter of course. Bram gulped in evi- 
dent embarrassment. There was a strange timidness 
about him — the resultant of an eager desire to know 
mingled with a certain awe for the knowledge of others. 
There was little self-assurance about the boy; but this 
did not make him seem lacking in personality, for there 
was always shining from his eyes eager longkig to 
understand and to learn. 

“ I don’t — that is — you must be very busy,” he 
stammered. But his eyes said more than he could pos- 
sibly have put into words. And Dominie Wijnberg, 
with a rare sympathy that had endeared him at Ellis 
island to thousands of immigrants, read the look aright. 

“ Not a bit of it,” he said; “ I have more time than 
I know what to do with — ” which was an actual fact. 
Time was hanging heavily on the minister’s hands in 
this quiet little countryside. 

“ I don’t know if you care for books [which was a 
white lie because the minister did know], but you might 
want to look at this,” and he held up the Paradise 
Lost. 

Brain’s feet carried him to the table automatically. 
His will had no more to do with it than will power has 


Rebuilding the Lofty Rhyme 


3 


anything to do with the iron filings rushing to the 
magnet. Forgotten were the kindly commands of his 
mother. He was eagerly turning the pages, reading 
the lines under the Dore woodcuts, feasting his eyes on 
the beautiful, large type. Thus, as was his wont, he 
tasted the book, here a bit and there a bit, from the 
noble opening lines to the page on which the race-par- 
ents take their solitary way through Eden, hand in 
hand. Forgotten even was the minister for a moment. 

When finally Bram looked up with a start of sur- 
prise, as though he had but just awakened from a 
dream, there was that in his face that made Dominie 
Wijnberg feel dimly that after all there might be some- 
thing worth while for him in life at the Five Corners. 

“ You like books? ” he asked, and as he pronounced 
the simple words there was something of that old, odd 
feeling of emotion in his heart that had made life at 
Ellis island rich and beautiful because it had brought 
him close to men and women. 

For reply the boy gulped in embarrassment again. 
The timid look of self-abnegating wonder sprang back 
into his eyes. Then finally he whispered, “ Jo,” as 
though afraid he might disturb some one. 

“ If from now on you will promise to be a very good 
boy,” said the minister, assuming as much of a mock- 
stern look as he could master in the face of Bram’s 
eagerness, “ I am going to tell you something.” 

“If I don’t come here any more to disturb you?” 
The color had fled from the boy’s face. 

“ No,” said the minister, and Bram started at the 
assumed harshness of the tone. Emphasizing each 
word with a shake of his index finger Dominie Wijn- 
berg continued, “ If you will promise to come in here 


4 


Bram of the Five Corners 


every day and read as much as you like of all the books 
I have here in my book case, then — I — will — give 
— you — this — Paradise Lost! ” 

And then Dominie Wijnberg experienced the joy of 
bursting into a peal of spontaneous laughter, the first 
after despair had come to him in New York. 

Bram stood speechless. Thus might a miser have 
stood speechless if wealth had been suddenly showered 
upon him. And Dominie Wijnberg understood. He 
had the grace not to break, in on the boy’s moment of 
bliss. 

“ You mean,” said Bram finally, hugging the large 
volume to himself, “ to keep it.?^ ” 

“ To keep it. I want you to start your library 
with it.” 

Bram but dimly understood. The word “ library ” 
in his mind had always been associated with a building. 
That it could mean a personal collection of books he 
did not know. But he did not care about understand- 
ing. He was happy as it is seldom given anyone to 
be happy. 

The book had been given to Dominie Wijnberg as a 
birthday present by a Sunday school class in his for- 
mer charge. It had been chosen because of the appar- 
ent appropriateness of the illustrations. 

‘‘ I might as well leave the book as a legacy to one 
who can have joy of it,” he thought. “ Soon my entire 
library will have to pass into other hands,” and there 
was a feeling of bitterness in his heart. 

So it came about that Bram came often into Dominie 
Wijnberg’s study and that Dominie Wijnberg began 
to look forward to Bram’s coming. The minister fell 
into the habit of reading to the boy, especially from 


Rebuilding the '' Lofty Rhyme ■'*' 


5 


the Paradise Lost. Though he understood but little 
of the poem, Bram loved the sonorousness of the lines ; 
and boy though he was, he felt something of the noble 
dignity of the poem. 

“ It is a strange thought,” said Dominie Wijnberg 
to himself, “ that hundreds of years after his death 
this pathetic, blind, hunted, disappointed Puritan is 
still giving pleasure to a boy. I wonder, if he could 
know it, whether he would not think that the disappoint- 
ment at the end of his life had been all wrong? He 
thought perhaps, in his poverty, of his life as a vain, 
wasted thing, at the end of which he could earn only 
fifteen pounds with the noblest epic in the language. 
What a comfort it would have been if he could have 
known that hundreds of years hence he would be giving 
pleasure to Bram.” 

Dominie Wijnberg started. A new thought for a 
moment lighted up his face. Then the look of pain 
returned. 

“ No, that can’t apply to me. My life was just 
beginning and I have had no time. What has it all 
been for? ” 

In his shy, naive way Bram learned to worship the 
minister. Every free moment was spent in the study — 
at least after Dominie Wijnberg had secured Vrouw 
Meesterling’s reluctant consent. Never had Bram read 
more than three English books in all his life. After 
the death of the boy’s father the family had been dom- 
inated more or less by Oom Bartel in De Stad, and 
with him English was taboo. If read he must, the boy 
must be guarded against the influx of present-day 
literature. And Vrouw Meesterling, relying on her 
brother’s wisdom, had enforced the rule ; although when 


6 


Bram of the Five Corners 


she had on certain occasions discovered Bram in the 
act of devouring one of the forbidden books, she had 
not mentioned it to Bartel and had even allowed her 
baby to finish it. 

And here all at once the riches of literature were 
thrown, open to him. When Dominie Wijnberg said 
the word the dictates of Oom Bartel no longer were in 
force. 

“ But Dominie says so,” was Vrouw Meesterling’s 
invariable defense whenever she was taken to task by 
her masterful brother, “ Dominie — think now ! ” 

There was no appeal from this. 

“ Ja, ja” Oom Bartel would say, “ but he is not the 
dominie we would expect in our church.” 

Oom Bartel’s home and church were in De Stad. He 
had no personal interest in the church of the Five Cor- 
ners, but often he could not refrain from speaking his 
mind about that congregation and its new pastor. 

‘‘ He is so — och, what shall I say.? so different. He 
has been in the big city so long that he seems to have 
lost the Dutch flavor. Even a dominie is not holy.” 

“ Ja, ja, I know that,” but Vrouw Meesterling’s tone 
was far from convincing. 

‘‘ And he is so slowish. I wondered how you people 
could get a dominie from New York, but I didn’t won- 
der after I had seen him. Not a bit strange that they 
were anxious to get rid of him there.” 

But this made Vrouw Meesterling stand up to her 
masterful brother. 

“ The poor boy ain’t well. You must give him a 
chance to get rested and to get some flesh back on his 
bones here in the country. New York has tuckered 
him out.” 


Rebuilding the ''Lofty Rhyme'" 7 


“ Well, all I can say is that I hope it will all come 
out right; but I fear for you people — I fear for 
you.” 

And throughout the congregation of the Five Cor- 
ners there was a feeling somewhat like that expressed 
by Bartel Westerbaan. The people felt somehow that 
they had been defrauded. Dominie Wijnberg had 
strange “ city ways,” and this indictment it was hard 
to live down among the farmers of the Five Corners. 
Before Dominie Wijnberg came to them they had been 
trying in vain for many years to secure a pastor. But 
because the congregation consisted of only a handful 
of families, none of them very prosperous, it had never 
been able to pay a salary sufficiently large to keep a 
married man. Since practically all who graduated each 
spring from the theological seminary in De Stad rather 
perversely insisted on entering holy wedlock a few days 
after commencement, the church of the Five Comers 
had seen its hopes blasted each successive year. 

When therefore it had become known through the 
board of domestic missions that there was in New York 
a broken-down minister of their own denomination who 
needed a place where the work was extremely light, and 
who would be content to serve for almost nothing, the 
people had looked upon it as a providential dispensa- 
tion. They had extended a call precipitately, as 
though fearing that the wondrous opportunity would 
be suddenly snatched away. There had not been the 
usual preliminary investigation. No one knew the 
minister, and many had never heard of him. It was 
only after the formal call had been extended that 
doubts had arisen. Interest in their prospective pastor 
had naturally been intense, and the scraps of mforma- 


8 


Bram of the Five Corners 


tion about him in the possession of each soon became 
the property of all. 

“ They tell me in De Stad today,” said Berend Pop- 
pema soon after the call had been extended, “ that 
Dominie Wijnberg ain’t really no dominie at all.” 

Berend and Vrouw Poppema were paying an evening 
call at Vrouw Meesterling’s. Bram sat bent far over 
the oil-cloth covered kitchen table, immersed in a large 
volume which had been the favorite of his father ; while 
Wilm, big-boned and a few years older, after a day of 
hard work, lay heavily sleeping on an ancient couch. 
Another son, Anton, the oldest in the family, who was 
usually looked upon as the head of the house, did the 
honors of host, helping his mother entertain the callers. 

“No dominie?” said Anton in surprise. 

“ Jcf, that’s what they say. He is such a — I don’t 
know what you call it, but he seems to have something 
to do with the immigrants what land in New York.” 

“ I thought from the start there must be somethin’ 
wrong,” declared Vrouw Poppema in her positive way; 
“ it ain’t every dominie what comes from New York to 
the Five Corners.” 

Vrouw Meesterling indulged in one of her tolerant 
smiles. It had been understood from the first that the 
new minister was to make his home in her family, and 
already she felt that he was one of them. Already she 
had assumed an attitude of defense in behalf of the man 
she had never seen, as she always defended, quietly and 
tolerantly, everyone who belonged to her family circle. 
In her soft-spoken way she discounted by her attitude 
anything that might be said against the new minister. 

“Ja, ja,” contributed Vrouw Poppema, adjusting 
her chair so as to get a better light on her knitting. 


Rebuilding the Lofty Rhyme 


9 


he was a minister once, and then he went into such 
an office. I can’t understand it. What is the world 
cornin’ to ? And that for a minister ! ” 

Anton Meesterling shook his head. He was twenty- 
seven, and the head of the family; as such he felt his 
responsibilities unduly. He always felt that he must 
make up at the Five Comers for what his mother and 
brothers might lack in dignity and seriousness. 

“ Who knows what that may mean, his goin’ into 
such an office? ” he said in answer to Vrouw Poppema’s 
remark, “ and that in such a big city ; specially as he’s 
young yet, they tell me. I read the other day that in 
New York almost all the ministers — mind you, min- 
isters — belong to lodges and believe in evolootion ! ” 

“ Is it possible? ” Vrouw Poppema dropped her 
knitting in her lap. 

Bram looked up from his reading for a moment, 
startled by Vrouw Poppema’s exclamation. He was 
deep in a Dutch edition of The Prince of India^ and 
after a hasty glance at the visitor he returned to his 
race against time, knowing as he did that bedtime 
would come all too soon, when the book would have to 
be laid aside. 

“ Ja, this evolootion is verderfelijk^’' said Berend 
Poppema; “it even has broke in in De Stad. Your 
Oom Bartel was tellin’ me, Anton, that they had a 
great deal of trouble on the school board. He was 
sayin’ there was a teacher they hired, and they kept 
her only half the year out because she learned the chil- 
dren this evolootion. She showed them a picture in the 
gographee, what had a horse and a cow and a man in 
it. ‘ Children,’ says she (as your Ooni Bartel tells it) 
‘ how many animals do you see? ’ 


10 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ ‘ Two,’ says the children all together. 

“ ‘ Look again,’ says she, ‘ how many animals do 
you see.^ ’ 

“ The children they looked and they looked, and they 
held the book upside down and sideways up, like you 
do with such puzzle pictures to find the hidden man, 
but not another animal could they find. The teacher 
she kept it up, and she asked them again how many 
animals they could see; and then when none could 
answer, she says: 

“ ‘ I see three,’ she says, ‘ a horse, a cow, and a man. 
You children have growed so big and don’t know yet 
that man is an animal ’ 

“ The children was surprised, as you may well believe, 
and they come home with it in the evening. When 
your Oom Bartel heard of it he calls the board together 
(he bein’ president of the board), and he called the 
teacher on the carpet. She was a little slip of a girl, 
but she stuck to it and stood up against that whole 
board and said that man is an animal. So they gave 
her a week to learn better or get out. She got out. 
I saw her letter to the board, and it was the most fool- 
ish thing I ever laid eyes on. All it said was, ‘ The 
world do move.’ Now what do you make of that? ” 

Bram again looked up from his book. He had 
caught the last few sentences. In his eager foraging 
through various books, acquired sometimes in curious 
ways, he had come across the expression, and he had 
at least a dim notion of its meaning. His first impulse 
was to give it ; but that would mean a lengthy explana- 
tion, and he could not spare the time from The Prince 
of India. 

“ But that’s nothing by what Oom Bartel told me 


Rebuilding the ''Lofty Rhyme'' 


11 


once,” said Anton. “ Yours is only a school teacher, 
but what he told me was about a minister — a Re- 
formed minister it is true, but still a minister — and 
this was also in D'e Stad. Dominie Middlings preached 
there a few years ago. It was because of him that 
Evart Vriesman left the Reformed and came over to 
the Christian Reformed. Dominie Middlings preached 
about creation, and as Oom Bartel tells it, he said 
somethin’ about the six days bein’ six periods » You 
know the evolootionists hold that, and each period was 
maybe a thousand or a million years they say; just as 
if God ain’t almighty enough to do it all in six days ! 
Well, Evart goes up to the minister after the sermon 
and says : 

“ ‘ I am afraid I didn’t get quite all you said. Did 
I hear you right that the six days was six periods? ’ 

“ ‘ You heard it right,’ said the minister, and he 
was not a bit ashamed — so far has this evolootion 
gone, even among the Hollanders ! 

“ ‘ You mean to say that God did not create the 
heavens and the earth in six days, as it says plain in 
the Bible?’ said Evart, ‘in six days of twenty-four 
hours each? ’ 

“ ‘ That’s what I said,’ answered Dominie Middlings. 

“ ‘ You can send my letter to the Christian Reformed 
church,’ said Evart, hot-headed — just like that — 
‘ and you can do it tomorrow. You can’t be any too 
quick with it ; there at least they preach no evolootion ! ’ 

“And he stuck to it. He joined Oom Bartel’s 
church and has stayed in it ever since.” 

“ Bram, mijn jongen," said Vrouw Meesterling in her 
kindly way, “ you must go to bed now, else you’ll hurt 
your eyes.” 


12 


Bram of the Five Corners 


With a muttered “ Ja ” Bram hastily skimmed to 
the chapter end and then regretfully closed the book. 

“ If only Dominie Wijnberg don’t turn out that 
kind,” said Vrouw Poppema, “ then we would be worse 
off than with no dominie at all ; but I fear it, I fear it 
— him from that big city, and leavin’ the ministry for 
such an office ! ” 

Hints of these and other similar conjectures' on 
the part of his parishioners came to Dominie Wijn- 
berg soon after he had taken up his work at the Five 
Corners. He felt that he was living in an atmosphere 
of suspicion. 

“ It’s only for a short time,” he thought bitterly ; 
“ why should I care whether I make an impression here 
or not.? This is not my work. I left that over there 
at Ellis island. My chapter is closed.” 

But so it did not seem to Bram. To the boy Dominie 
Wijnberg was a wonderful being, and his own real life 
dated from the time when the minister had come to live 
at the Five Comers. Bram was in mortal fear that 
something would happen that might take the object of 
his hero-worship away and put an end to his intellec- 
tual feast among Dominie Wijnberg’s books. 

For many days Bram had been burning to ask the 
minister a question. On it seemed to depend his peace 
of mind. Finally, after the minister had finished read- 
ing to him the idyl of innocence in the garden, the boy 
led up to the subject. 

“ God made all things in six days, didn’t he. Dom- 
inie .? ” 

“ Yes,” said the minister innocently, not suspecting 
that the boy was echoing a vital local theological ques- 
tion. 


Rebuilding the ''Lofty Rhyme'* 


13 


Joy shone from the eyes of Bram. He had heard 
Oom Bartel suggest that Dominie Wijnberg was apt 
to be just the kind of man tO' believe in such notions 
as six days being six periods; he was in mortal fear 
lest this should prove to be the case, and that the inevi- 
table removal of his new found friend would follow. 

“ And is man an animal? ” 

“ Why certainly.” Dominie Wijnberg burst into a 
peal of whole-hearted laughter. 

It was gall poured into the cup of Bram’s joy. 
Dominie Wijnberg’s eyes were opened. 

Did you mean just now whether it was a matter 
of six days or six so-called periods?” 

“ Ja-a,” hesitatingly. 

The minister was tempted to say six days; that was 
plainly what the boy wanted. But somehow Bram’s 
ingenuousness exacted sincerity. 

‘‘ I personally believe it was six periods, although 
there are many much older and wiser than I who believe 
in the six day theory.” 

Misery descended on Bram. He had wanted to know 
the minister’s sentiments on these vital questions so that 
he might defend him, if need be, against the charges 
that his uncle had suggested. But now he loyally 
resolved to make it the business of his life to try to 
prevent Oom Bartel from ever learning Dominie Wijn- 
berg’s real sentiments. 

The minister looked curiously at the boy. What 
interest could a mere lad have in questions of this kind? 
There were queer depths in him that excited the min- 
ister’s interest. 

“ Let’s forget about such things,” he said, in an 
effort to make the smile come back to the thin face; 


14 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ they aren’t the most important anyway. We have 
been reading Paradise Lost; now let’s read the book 
from which Milton got most of his story, and we’ll see 
if the question of six days has so very much to do with 
the real thing after all.” 

Dominie Wijnberg was an excellent reader. He read 
the first three chapters of Genesis in the manner in 
which he might have read the epic. Never had Bram 
thought of the Bible as interesting reading matter. 
There had always been an irksomeness about listening 
to the dull drone of Scripture reading after each meal, 
a feeling of boredom that he had never been able to 
throw off, no matter how hard he had tried. But while 
Dominie Wijnberg was reading the boy sat large-eyed. 
He forgot it was the Bible. The wonderful dignity of 
the constant repetition of the term, ‘‘ the Lord God,” 
in almost every paragraph, gripped him. The min- 
ister’s voice said unmistakably that there was nothing 
mean or small or narrow about this person, “ the Lord 
God.” In Bram’s imagination he grew to epic pro- 
portions. 

Dominie Wijnberg made no comment on the reading. 
Bram did not understand at the time what it all meant, 
but years afterward he understood. Milton had suc- 
ceeded wonderfully in painting the picture of the devil ; 
but he had failed in his picture of the Deity. The 
opening chapters of Genesis supplied this epic picture 
of “ the Lord God ; ” and through the artistry of his 
intuitions the minister had created in the soul of the 
boy images of the principles of good and of evil. 

When Dominie Wijnberg had left his work at Ellis 
island that he had loved passionately, to take up the 
comparatively light task at the little countryside in 


Rebuilding the "'Lofty Rhyme"" 15 


Michigan, he had felt that he was slinking away to die. 
A few months, at most a few years, and all would be 
over as far as his body was concerned. And when he 
had said good-by to his friends in New York he had 
felt that that was the real dissolution. It had seemed 
the end of all things. His work was done; he had 
fought his fight, he had run his race. Instead of win- 
ning a crown of glory he must bury his passionate 
longing for service and his very personality. He had 
felt the bitterness of revolt sometimes, and always he 
had felt that the end had come. 

But as he thought of Bram’s eagerness now he lost 
something of the feeling of bitterness. He was mysti- 
cally conscious of having created something in the dim 
recesses of a soul, and it seemed to lead him closer to 
the creating processes of the Lord God, the epic story 
of whose handiwork he had been reading. In some dim, 
mysterious way Bram had begun to make the minister 
ashamed of his feeling that for him all was ended. 


CHAPTER II 


THE DEATH OF A HOPE 

I T was a year or more before he came to the Five 
Corners that Dominie Wijnberg first began to lose 
his grip. Never a robust man, he had also never been 
compelled to curb his ambitions because of bodily weak- 
ness. And then it suddenly came to him as a surprise 
that there was such a thing as illness in the world. 
Though he had often visited sick rooms, and though he 
was familiar with the face of death, bodily pain and 
weakness, so far as their relation to his own personality 
had been concerned, had never seemed much more than 
an abstraction. 

“You need rest; you are working too hard,” said 
the doctor. 

“ But can’t you give me something that will get me 
over this ? ” 

Like all persons who have seldom or never had per- 
sonal relations with a physician. Dominie Wijnberg 
still retained a childlike faith in a doctor’s almost 
omnipotent power over disease. It would only be nec- 
essary for him to give his patient a bottle of greenish 
or reddish medicine or a box of pills, and, presto ! dis- 
ease would flee and the vigor of life would leap up in 
him. He knew better of course, he was an intelligent 
man and a man of wide experience; but there is a dif- 
ference when one’s own personality is concerned. He 
knew as a matter of common knowledge that often the 
[ 16 ] 


The Death of a Hope 


17 


physician stands baffled; but such is the power of the 
instinctive impulses of faith and hope that when disease 
attacks a strong man for the first time he cannot believe 
that the doctor is not a modern magician, a “ medicine 
man,” whose incantation of pill box and medicine bottle 
will drive away the evil spirits. 

The man of science shook his head. He was an over- 
worked practitioner who had not been able to keep up 
with the advance of his profession, but he happened to 
be an honest man, and he frankly admitted to Dominie 
Wijnberg that he did not know what was the trouble. 

“ Something is eating away your vitality,” he said. 
“ I don’t know what it is ; I am merely making a guess 
when I say that you are working too hard. The guess 
is worth probably as much and no more than it would be 
if it came from a man who has never been inside a med- 
ical college. You are driving your body too terrific- 
ally.” 

“ But can’t you find out definitely which organ is 
affected or what steps should be taken? I am willing 
to slow up a little, if necessary.” 

The doctor again shook his head. 

“ Then suppose I should consent to go away for a 
month and take a complete rest? ” ventured the min- 
ister, still refusing to take the physician very seriously. 

The same slow shake of the head from the doctor. 

‘‘ I fear a month would not do.” He hesitated. 
“ Now if you should say a year, or two years.” 

Dominie Wijnberg turned pale. 

“ I had no idea it was serious,” he managed to say. 

“ I am merely advising you as a friend. I may be 
mistaken; and, as I told you frankly, I don’t exactly 
know what is the matter. But honestly, my general 


18 


Bram of the Five Corners 


impression is that it is more serious than you think. 
In the case of a man like you I think it would be crim- 
inal for me not to speak out.” 

“Yes, I certainly want to know the truth. How- 
ever, you’ll admit doctors are sometimes mistaken.” 

“ I most earnestly hope I am, in your case. I’ll also 
frankly admit that I have been too busy to keep up on 
medical advance during the past decade. Why not see 
Dr. Jessup.? I’ll give you a note of introduction. He 
returned this year from Vienna, and probably he can 
give you a more scientific diagnosis than I have given.” 

Dr. Jessup occupied large, richly furnished offices in 
another part of New York. It was only because of 
the note of his former schoolmate that he gave Dominie 
Wijnberg an opportunity to see him after no more 
than an hour’s wait. The minister was only beginning 
to learn the A B C of ill health, and he chafed under 
the necessity of paying attention to his body. 

When he entered Dr. Jessup’s private office Dominie 
Wijnberg had a feeling that the great man had been 
studying all these years solely to minister unto him. 
It was not an egoistic thought; he who had never been 
ill could not visualize a world of pain and suffering. 
That he was only one of a mighty stream of human 
beings daily passing through that office was a thought 
that could hardly have occurred to him. His fear and 
uneasiness left him. The great man seemed so strong 
and competent; he seemed bursting with the secrets 
that science has uncovered. Surely he could mix a 
greenish or reddish medicine that would drive back the 
encroaching disease. It already seemed fantastic to the 
sick man that he had been frightened into offering to 
give up a whole month. 


The Death of a Hope 


19 


The physician’s gruff remarks in the course of the 
rather lengthy examination seemed only to confirm the 
minister’s conclusion that the overworked doctor in his 
part of the city had been wrong and that he himself 
had been unnecessarily alarmed. He loved his work 
with so passionate a love as it is the privilege of few 
men to feel for their daily toil. The offer to leave it 
for a month had been like wrenching out something 
precious from his life and throwing it away. It had 
represented a great sacrifice. 

Dominie Wijnberg had become the plaything of a 
great idea. He knew that this idea possessed him and 
mastered his life, but he was glad of his bondage to it. 
He had come to New York with the ostensible purpose 
of serving a small congregation. For a time his own 
people had held him. And then Ellis island had taken 
hold of his imagination. And when its grip had once 
fastened on him it would not let him go. 

He saw his dream for what it was — a big idea, to 
be worked out by a man with instincts for constructive 
work. He believed himself capable of doing this work 
for his own countrymen at least. Gradually he began 
to devote more and more of his time to it, until his 
congregation finally became only a side issue. 

Then came a time when he resigned his pulpit. He 
opened an office and became in a sense a business man 
— a business man who bartered his unstinted service 
and his grasp of immigration problems, that amounted 
almost to genius, for the happiness and well being of 
thousands who without his aid would have lost them- 
selves in this bewildering land. 

“ But what are you going to live on ^ ” asked one of 
his former consistory members ; “ with us you were get- 


20 


Bram of the Five Corners 


ting nine hundred dollars a year. Who is going to pay 
your salary out there.? ” and he pointed vaguely to the 
east. 

“ I have no wife or children, ” smiled the minister, 
“ and it is not likely that I shall have them for some 
time to come. They — the helpless ones — are wife and 
children to me. I need very little, very little.” 

The consistory member shook his head. To him it 
seemed like a big step downward, this abandoning of 
the ministry, this leaving of a position of respectability 
and honor for the adventurous life at Ellis island ; but 
Dominie Wijnberg looked at it from a different angle. 
He had indeed thrown away a fixed salary, but he had 
found the joy of life. 

And he had his dreams of the future. Some day 
there would no longer be anything haphazard about this 
work he was doing. In spite of all his efforts, there 
was still many a day when the tragedies of the immi- 
grant weighed heavily upon him and when he was pow- 
erless to give relief. Coming a million strong each 
year, the stream was too much for him, and he could 
touch only a comparatively small section of it. Here 
and there he brought comfort, but the fact that so 
much more might be done left him no peace. There 
would come a time when all this would be changed, when 
the harvest would all be gathered in, when the terrible 
waste of good, sturdy material for American citizen- 
ship would stop. Some day — 

All this passed through the mind of Dominie Wijn- 
berg as he sat in the private office of Dr. Jessup, the 
scientist-physician. Forgotten were the anxieties of a 
few hours before. Already he was reaching out to the 
future. Somehow his mere entrance into the office of 


The Death of a Hope 


21 


the physician had seemed to take away much of the 
strange lassitude that had hindered him and that had 
finally brought him to a doctor. He was thinking 
eagerly of what the coming week would bring and the 
coming month and the coming year after the great Dr. 
Jessup’s magic greenish or reddish medicine had given 
back to him his onetime vigor. He was beginning to 
gain a firm grasp on the problems that confronted him; 
he saw many ways in which he could make his efforts 
count tenfold, if only the necessary vigor of body was 
his to carry out his plans. Oh for the brute strength 
of a workhorse and for thirty-six hours a day in which 
to do all the work that his hand could find to do! 

Dr. Jessup was busily putting various kinds of 
instruments on the minister’s chest. He looked under 
the sick man’s eye-lids, required a drop of blood for 
microscopic examination, and subjected the patient to 
various other tests that but mildly interested the pre- 
occupied minister. The famous physician was after all 
rather fussy, he thought. Why not go straight to the 
point and give him the necessary prescription? Un- 
consciously Dominie W^ijnberg had again veered round 
to the mental state in which he looked upon the doctor 
as the “ medicine man,” such as he is to the savage, 
standing ready to exorcise the evil spirits of disease. 

“Well, well — yes-s-s,” Dr. Jessup was saying to 
himself as he took a thermometer from the minister’s 
mouth. 

While Dominie Wijnberg had been busy building his 
temple of the future. Dr. Jessup had been living in a 
world of his own. The soul of this man under his hand 
meant very little to him ; he would possibly have dis- 
missed the whole immigration problem with a con- 


22 


Bram of the Five Corners 


temptuous wave of the hand. But the body of his 
patient was a delight — in so far as it deviated from 
the normal. There was something about this body that 
made the doctor forget the throng of patients in the 
waiting room. He was a scientist first and a healer 
afterwards. And when he said, “ Well, well — yes-s-s,” 
he was not thinking of a greenish or reddish medicine 
that would cure this body. For the moment it seemed 
of very little importance whether it should ever be 
cured or not; but it seemed of very great importance 
that by his study of this case something might be added 
to the world’s knowledge of hidden things. 

“ Well, doctor, I suppose you can read me like an 
open book by this time,” said the minister pleasantly. 
“ I suppose you have found that I am pretty tough 
after all.” 

It was spoken confidently. Dominie Wijnberg was 
in high spirits. It was good to be alive even though 
minor repairs had to be made occasionally. 

“ Hey ? what’s that ? ” asked the great man. He had 
been too deeply immersed in his own thoughts to catch 
immediately the drift of his patient’s remark. 

“ I was remarking that you must find me pretty 
tough after all.” 

“ When it comes to a matter of muscle and heart- 
beat you are holding your own pretty well,” admitted 
Dr. Jessup. 

He held a test tube up to the light. 

“ And now you must not interrupt me please ; I am 
counting.” 

“ Doctors are a queer sort,” thought the minister, 
who had never been in a doctor’s private office till that 
day. But since silence was imposed upon him he put 


The Death of a Hope 23 


in the time calculating how he would catch up on the 
work that had been interrupted to make these visits to 
the offices of the two physicians. 

“ You are the only case of its kind that it has ever 
been my privilege to observe,” said the doctor after 
what seemed an interminable period of silence ; “ and I 
strongly suspect that through your case I shall be able 
to prove a theory of mine which the greatest medical 
scientists of Europe have denied.” 

The minister smiled. 

“Is it going to taste bad.?” he asked, still in high 
spirits. 

“ Taste.? ” The doctor looked mystified. 

“ The medicine you are going to prescribe.” 

To the credit of the humanity of the great scientist 
be it set down that his face lost its look of interested 
inquiry. He remembered suddenly that he was dealing 
with a man, not with a mixture in a test tube. 

“ I am not going to prescribe any medicine,” he said 
slowly ; “ there is, so far as I know, no medicine that 
can help you. I can only guess at the development and 
outcome of your illness. And frankly, any country 
doctor could do as much for you as I. But I shall be 
glad to examine you every day. I do not want you as 
a patient, because I do not pretend to be able to do 
anything for you ; but I would like to see you as often 
as possible.” 

“You mean. Dr. Jessup, it is serious.?” 

“ Again I must tell you I don’t know. If my theory 
is correct, it is — rather — serious. If it is correct, 
you had better go easy. No medicine known to science 
will cure you. But there are undiscovered possibilities 
in the recuperative powers of the human body, and 


Bram of the Five Corners 




complete rest may do what medicine cannot do. 
Frankly speaking, I think that is your only chance.” 

When Dominie Wijnberg left the doctor’s office some 
time later there was a mist before his eyes. He stag- 
gered like a man who has suddenly received a blow from 
behind. A policeman helped him to board a car. 

In the weeks that followed he haunted the offices of 
all manner of New York physicians in the hope of 
obtaining a more favorable verdict. But practically 
all agreed with Dr. Jessup. For a time the minister 
fought against giving up, but in the end he was com- 
pelled to admit that he was beaten. His work was suf- 
fering. He was compelled to decide to intrust it to 
another and to go in search of the only medicine Dr. 
Jessup and all the others were willing to prescribe — 
rest. The physicians did not object to a small church. 
They in fact encouraged the idea — something to keep 
his mind off his illness, but no more. The board of 
domestic missions arranged the transfer. 

“ It’s an ill wind — and all the rest of it,” quoted 
the minister when told of the needs of the church of 
the Five Comers. But he spoke the words bitterly, 
almost cynically. 


CHAPTER III 


THE BIRTH OF AMBITION 



NTON found Bram industriously reading the book 


of Job. It was not the Dutch family edition but 
Dominie Wijnberg’s English Bible, so that Anton did 
not recognize the book at once. 

“There you are again readin’ your eyes out,” said 
the head of the house in a tone of rebuke. 

Bram made an involuntary movement as though to 
hide the volume, as he had done numberless times when 
Anton had caught him reading a forbidden book. But 
the next moment, realizing that it was the Bible, he 
recovered himself. At the same time Anton also dis- 
covered the identity of the volume. 

“ The Bible ! ” he exclaimed. 

To be reading the Bible at odd moments, like any 
other book, seemed so new to the head of the Meester- 
ling household that he could not grasp the meaning of 
it at once. Religiously three times a day, at the con- 
clusion of each meal, Anton, following the custom that 
had obtained in the family since time immemorial, 
opened the large Dutch family Bible and read a chap- 
ter. He began with the first chapter of Genesis and 
read the Scriptures through at the rate of three chap- 
ters a day. And never was a chapter too long to be 
completely read ; never was a chapter uninteresting 
enough to be omitted. In a list of names each name 
was laboriously pronounced. And the wonderful poetry 


[ 25 ] 


26 


Bram of the Five Corners 


of Isaiah was given in the same monotonous semi-chant 
as a catalogue of the names of the sons of Israel. Even 
the picture of the new heaven and the new earth did 
not awaken any images in the mind of Anton. The 
Epistles of St. Paul were but so many dead words to 
him. That there is poetry in the Bible Anton would 
never have suspected. Whenever he reached the last 
chapter of Revelation he carried the piece of black 
ribbon that served as a bookmark back to Genesis, and 
at the conclusion of the next meal he began again with, 
“ In the beeinninff God created the heavens and the 
earth.” 

“ What for are you readin’ the Bible now — and 
that the English Bible ” he asked. “ Ain’t our Dutch 
Bible good enough.?^ ” 

“ Ja-a-fl,” the boy hesitated, “but Dominie says as 
how the book of Job is a poem — a drama he calls it, 
and I want to read it in English like I heard him read 
parts of it.” 

The fact was the Dutch reminded Bram too much 
of Anton’s monotonous chant, and it destroyed the 
illusion. In that language he could not think of it as 
poetry. 

“ Drama ! ” exclaimed Anton, “ drama ! What for a 
thing is that.^* ” 

“ Such — a, such — a — ” Bram hesitated. He was 
about to say “ play,” for that is how Dominie Wijn- 
berg had explained it to him; but he remembered in 
time how unspeakably wicked it would have seemed to 
Anton to call anything in the Bible a play. 

“ Well, poetry,” he ended lamely. 

“ Who ever heard of such a thing.'* Poetry! Bram, 
you are a funny one, and you let ’em tell you anything. 


The Birth of Ambition 


27 


Show me where it rhymes any place in the Bible, Dutch 
or English, I don’t care which.” 

Bram had an impulse to explain, but he remembered 
in time that it would be worse than useless. His vocab- 
ulary was too limited, and moreover his own notions 
on the subject were still too vague for expression. 

During the past few weeks the Bible had become an 
entirely new book to Bram, the result of which was that 
he was reading it now as he might read The Prince of 
India, Before the coming of Dominie Wijnberg, no 
matter how scarce reading matter had been in the Mees- 
terling home, it had never occurred to Bram to resort 
to the reading of the Bible. The Scriptures had been 
to him a religious tool, not a book in the real sense of 
the term. But Dominie Wijnberg took infinite pleasure 
in revealing it to the boy as something well worth 
reading. After ‘‘cutting” the book of Job to a 
manageable length, he read it to Bram as a Hebrew 
drama, impersonating the characters as best he could. 
It was the first time the boy realized there are real 
characters in the book. Whenever Anton had labored 
through it Bram had always lost the connection between 
meals. In his mind the book was a collection of dis- 
associated discussions. Now for the first time he felt 
the draw of it, and now for the first time his heart 
leaped with a genuine human sympathy for the tragic 
figure of Job clinging to the ideals of his soul. 

When the minister finished the boy started, and a 
deep sigh escaped him such as sometimes escapes an 
audience when the curtain drops on an absorbing scene. 
He had lost himself in the drama. The minister’s fea- 
tures relaxed and he smiled. For the moment he was 
very happy. 


28 


Bram of the Five Corners 


And now Bram was himself reading the book of Job 
at a sitting to catch again the thrill with which he had 
listened to the minister’s reading of it. But it seemed 
useless to attempt to give Anton a notion of what he 
felt. 

Ever since he had become the owner of the Paradise 
Lost and had discovered that there is poetry in the Bible 
— at least in the English Bible, for he had not yet 
made up his mind about the one with which Anton’s 
drone was inseparately associated — Bram had decided 
to become a poet. Many another boy of thirteen has 
come to this same momentous conclusion, but Bram 
probably believed it a little more strongly than others. 
While he sat listening to Dominie Wijnberg putting 
life and color and rich beauty into the lines of Milton, 
Bram felt that it might not be impossible to imitate the 
great Puritan successfully. He never definitely con- 
fessed it even to himself, but there was often a secret 
feeling in his heart that probably he could do better. 

Because, however, he was possessed of an almost 
abnormal timidity, which constantly caused him to be 
in mortal fear of seeming ridiculous, he never so much 
as gave a hint of his mighty ambition even to the 
minister. When the latter at one time, in one of his 
moments of bitterness and depression, spoke of death, 
more to himself than to the boy, and referred to the 
apparent futility of life, Bram said nothing. In his 
heart there was the thought however that he need have 
no fear of dying young. Was he not destined to become 
a great poet, and would the “ Lord God,” whose epic 
figure had come to possess his imagination, allow a 
great poet to perish from the earth before his work 
was done? 


The Birth of Ambition 


29 


It was by mere accident that Dominie Wijnberg 
came across the lines with which Bram hoped to equal 
and perhaps surpass Paradise Lost, His first impulse 
was to smile at them ; the crudity of the meter was sur- 
passed only by the naive ingenuousness of the thought. 
But the smile, half formed, gave way to a look of deep 
seriousness. And suddenly the feeling of bitterness that 
had weighed him down left him. It seemed as though 
the Albatross had suddenly fallen from his neck. 

Had he, broken and defeated, even in his hour of 
defeat helped this little country boy to begin his search 
to find himself? Had he caused some one to begin to 
“ follow the Gleam ” ? Dominie Wijnberg did not take 
Bram’s poetry seriously, but he took the impulse that 
gave birth to the attempt to write very seriously, and 
it made him happy — almost as happy as he had been 
in the Ellis island days. 

“ Our Bram will have to learn for dominie,” said 
Anton to Vrouw Meesterling that evening; “I found 
him readin’ the Bible this afternoon.” 

“ Heden! little Bram ! ” exclaimed his mother. To 
her he had always remained the babe in arms, and it 
came as a shock to her, this suggestion that he would 
some day have to take his place in the world of men. 

The subject once having been introduced, it became 
a topic of constant and vital interest in the Meesterling 
family. It had always been tacitly assumed that the 
boy was not to continue on the farm as his brothers 
had done. 

“ We’ll turn him into such a pennelikker/* big-boned 
Wilm was in the habit of saying half contemptuously, 
half fondly. Rude and uncouth, Wilm had a genuine 
affection for his thin-faced little brother, and he wished 


30 


Bram of the Five Corners 


him to have an education so that he might escape the 
hard life on the farm. 

“ There is no tellin’ what people won’t do to make a 
living these days,” said Aiiton. The family was dis- 
cussing Bram’s future, one of the very frequent 
discussions on this subject. Bram was present but he 
took no part. It was manifestly impossible for him 
to say, “ I am going to be a great poet, probably greater 
than Milton ! ” Even his mother, who usually took him 
so very seriously, would have laughed. And he sus- 
pected that probably Anton would have discovered 
something sinful in the ambition. And when Anton now 
made the observation that “ there is no telling what 
people won’t do to make a living,” Bram was trebly glad 
that he had never confided in anyone about his hopes. 
For a moment he felt guilty. Was it possible that 
Anton had guessed something? But this suspicion was 
immediately dispelled when his brother continued : 

‘‘ When I was in De Stad yesterday there was a yoimg 
boy in Oom Bartel’s store what was goin’ to be a 
Christian lawyer. Think of that, a Christian lawyer ! ” 

In Anton’s mind the terms “ Christian ” and “ law- 
yer ” were mutually exclusive ; he who was one could not 
be the other. 

“ He was a boy of a Reformed church ; I can’t call 
his name to mind just now, but he was one of them new 
English church people. It’s gettin’ so Christians can 
say and do anything.” 

The members of the family listened sympathetically. 
Vrouw Meesterling said nothing; it was, of course, 
unthinkable that her baby should enter the field of law, 
and Anton’s remarks seemed to require no answer. 

“Now if you should talk of a Christian doctor that 


The Birth of Ambition 


31 


would be another thing,” continued the head of the 
house. “ And we need them. Oom Bartel was tellin’ 
me yesterday of Dr. Straatman in De Stad. There 
was typhoid fever all around in De Stad, and this Dr. 
Straatman says the well water was to blame; says if 
they’d had pure city water there would have been no 
typhoid fever. Now what do you think of that? ” 

answered Vrouw Meesterling, “most of them 
doctors don’t believe in no God, and they don’t reckon 
with God.” 

“ Bram, how would you like to be a doctor? ” asked 
Wilm. 

Appealed to directly, the boy gulped and said, “ No.” 
He was embarrassed; his secret ambition was at such 
great variance with everything that had been suggested. 

When Dominie Wijnberg entered the room Anton 
appealed to him. 

“ I was sayin’,” he said, “ that little Bram ought to 
learn for dominie. Now don’t you think that would be 
the thing to do ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” answered the minister, to the surprise 
of the head of the household. Anton had believed it 
impossible that a minister would advise any other pro- 
fession than the ministry. Suddenly he remembered, 
however, that Dominie Wijnberg had at one time left 
the ministry ; that explained his answer. 

“ What does Bram think about it ? ” asked the 
minister. 

Anton looked at the speaker in renewed surprise. 
What bearing could that have on the discussion? 
“ Dominie is queer,” he thought, and he shook his 
head. 

Later, when Bram was alone with the minister in the 


32 


Bram of the Five Corners 


latter’s study, Dominie Wijnberg returned to the 
subject. 

“ Have you ever thought of what you would like to 
be when you grow up? ” 

Bram reflected for a moment, and then he took his 
plunge. 

“ I want to be a poet,” he said, and to his intense 
relief Dominie Wijnberg did not laugh. He looked 
thoughtful for a moment and then he said very 
seriously : 

“ I am glad to hear that.” 

And he was in earnest. He had an odd feeling that 
here was a situation that was important. Not that he 
believed that this ingenuous country boy would ever be 
known as a poet. His ambitions would change as he 
grew older. But that seemed immaterial. The fact 
that a little Dutch lad, who had spent all his life in dull, 
prosaic surroundings, whose very lack of opportunity 
it would seem would have kept him close to the clod, 
the traditions of whose family and neighbors militated 
against anything out of the beaten path — that such a 
lad should have been impelled to hitch his wagon to a 
star seemed nothing less than a miracle to Dominie 
Wijnberg. He had an odd feeling that a new soul was 
being created in his presence, and it made him tingle. 

And then the thought came, “ Is it possible that I 
had something to do with this creative process? Did 
I help to awaken the mighty ambition, an ambition so 
mighty that the boy does not know the bounds of it 
himself? ” His heart went out to the lad with his 
naive, trusting ways. The bitterness that the failure 
of his life had left as a mark upon him suddenly left 
the minister. It seemed after all that it had not be®n 


The Birth of Ambition 


33 


the end when he had left his work in New York. Some- 
how Dominie Wijnberg could not help feeling that it 
had been worth while coming from New York to go 
through an experience like this. Again it seemed, that 
the Albatross was dropping from his neck. 

Nothing less than a wonderful miracle, the minister 
thought, this birth of a mighty ambition. The miracle 
is so often repeated that it no longer seems a miracle. 
And the ambition of youth, holy and awe-inspiring, so 
often finally ends in anti-climax, that the aspirations 
of boyhood have become stuff for jest and laughter. 
The grown-up who has long since forgotten his youthful 
desire to climb Sinai, laughs with a knowing air and 
makes the stripling before him feel self-conscious and 
ashamed ; forgetting in his arrogance that he is standing 
in the presence of the Burning Bush and that in the 
Bush is God. 

“ Now here is Bram,” said the minister to himself ; 
“ his mother seems good natured but commonplace — 
hardly a spark of idealism in her makeup. One of his 
brothers is a clod; the other’s soul is a straight- jacket 
affair. What else is it but a miracle, this singling out 
of one to have bom in his heart this desire to kiss the 
lips of the angels ” 

What of the generation before Bram, and the genera- 
tion before that, and the generation before that.? Who 
was it way back in the forgotten past among the humble 
and unknown foreparents of this boy who had lighted 
the spark that was again glowing and that was asking 
to be passed on to the next generation and the next and 
the next.? And was not this truly an ascent to God.? 

“ That at least is not for me — to hand down through 
flesh and blood the spark of the divine that may be bum- 


34 


Bram of the Five Corners 


ing in my heart,” thought the minister. “ The best I 
can hope to do is to encourage the spark in another, 
for my little life is almost as a tale that is told.” 

And the minister found that for the moment at least 
a miracle had also been wrought in his own soul. This 
thought of the last bitter hour no longer brought its 
habitual bitterness. There was balm in the certainty 
that what he had thought of as the end had not been 
the end. Somehow this seemed mystically to give him 
a grip on immortality. 

And because he felt that his passing on of the divine 
flame must needs be vicarious, that he could not pass it 
on to flesh and blood of his own, he did not laugh when 
Bram said shamefacedly, “ I want to be a poet.” 

“ You are not choosing an easy walk in life,” he said, 
“ but a noble one.” 

Bram looked mystified. The epic he had begun still 
seemed very good to him, and it had been very easy to 
write. For a moment he had an impulse to show it to 
the minister. 

“ It may be, Bram, mijn jongen” the latter con- 
tinued, using Vrouw Meesterling’s favorite term of 
endearment, “ that in order to attain your ambition you 
may have to live alone and be despised and deserted. 
Milton, you know, died a broken-hearted man. And 
the world is not through breaking the hearts of its poets. 
I am thinking now, Bram, of all the poets — not only 
those who write, but all who feel and who aspire, all the 
idealists who have tried to reach something above them 
and above their fellows.” 

He was talking over the head of the little country boy, 
and he knew he was talking over the head of the boy. 
But he took delight in expressing the thought, and Bram 


The Birth of Ambition 


35 


listened with the same kind of awe as when Dominie 
Wijnberg had read from Paradise Lost to him. 

But coming down to the boy’s level again, the minister 
told him simply the story of the life of the writer of 
Paradise Lost, Bram listened in wonder. It was a 
strange, new experience to him to have this model of 
his ambitions made flesh and blood. The minister told 
of the twenty political years, when the great Puritan 
had laid aside his “ singing robes ” to take part in the 
grim battle, to give and to receive blows, and to be- 
spatter and be bespattered. 

“ And, Bram, he could never have written Paradise 
Lost if it had not been for those twenty years. That 
is what I meant when I said that you are not choosing 
an easy walk in life.” 

Bram looked thoughtfully at his rather grimy bare 
toes. Something of the minister’s meaning he had 
cau^t. The simple story of the poet’s struggles had 
conveyed its own message. The boy was no longer 
secretly ashamed of his ambition. He felt that he had 
chosen something worth while. 

And when later he re-read his own lines he began to 
see that they did not only not surpass the work of the 
great Puritan, but that they might possibly fall short 
of equaling it. In a vague, nebulous way he felt that 
the work of the Puritan was instinct with the soul of a 
man who had lived abundantly, while his own work — 
He dug his bare toes into the warm earth and looked 
thoughtful. Then wonder dawned in his eyes. 

It was Anally Oom Bartel Westerbaan who brought 
the family to its decision in regard to Bram’s prospec- 
tive career. The argument as to what vocation he was 
to choose had doddered along for some time, but there 


36 


Bram of the Five Corners 


had not been enough purposefulness in it to make it 
come to a head. 

“ A minister,” said Oom Bartel, “ certainly Bram 
has to become a minister. What else do you want him 
to be.? ” 

“ But, Oom Bartel,” said Wilm innocently, not 
realizing that he was touching on a tender subject, 
“ you didn’t learn for dominie, even though you went 
to college for a while.” 

This Bartel did not answer. The remark carried him 
back to an episode in his own life that he would rather 
have forgotten. 

“ As a minister Bram can amount to something,” was 
Bartel’s way of meeting his nephew’s unfortunate re- 
mark. “ There is no question about it ; Bram must be 
a minister.” 

And as was his way, he assumed that the matter was 
settled. And because Bartel was a masterful individual 
who had dominated the Meesterling family ever since 
the death of the father, the members of that family also 
took it for granted that it had been settled. 

One of Oom Bartel’s favorite topics of conversation 
with the savants who were in the habit of gathering 
about the stove in his store in De Stad, was that the 
ministry is per se a nobler calling than any other ; that 
it has a special franchise from heaven and that it invests 
a man with a special dignity and authority. This con- 
ception of the ministry presupposes, of course, that the 
minister has received a “ call.” And although Bartel 
would have agreed that every man receives a call in a 
certain sense, he would argue strenuously that the min- 
ister is more specially called. Without definitely saying 
so, Bartel usually left the impression that in some 


The Birth of Ambition 


37 


mysterious way every man who enters this sacred profes- 
sion is supposed to have had some more or less direct 
communication with God. It must be “ borne in on 
him ” that he is to enter the ministry, was the way 
Bartel usually explained it. 

But he saw nothing illogical in deciding for a thirteen 
year old boy, without that boy’s cooperation, that he 
was to become a minister. Bartel had not consulted his 
nephew, Bram ; neither did he think it necessary to 
consult him. And because there was no one in the 
Meesterling household who believed that Oom Bartel 
could possibly be mistaken, his present illogical position 
remained unchallenged. 

“ He can stay at my house,” continued Bartel ; “ I 
will make it very reasonable, because he can help out 
in the store once in a while. In that way I can keep an 
eye on him, too.” 

“ Jtty jay* said Anton severely, “ don’t let him run 
loose.” 

“ He was never a rough boy,” defended Vrouw 
Meesterling. In her imagination she saw her darling 
grown up, standing in the pulpit, commanding the 
admiring gaze of the congregation of the Five Comers, 
which was her whole world. Her homely face became 
soft and almost beautiful. It was seldom that her soul 
ascended the heights; but now, as had been the case 
with Bram for another reason a short time before, 
wonder also dawned in her eyes. 


CHAPTER IV 


OOM BARTEL 

T he separation from his mother, from the minister 
in the low-ceilinged study, from the old familiar, 
cozy kitchen with its oil-cloth covered table, its ancient 
couch, its spacious woodbox, was a cruel one for Bram. 
While conning his lessons during the week, usually 
back of the counter in Oom Bartel’s store, he remem- 
bered with passionate affection sometimes even the seven 
cows in the barn at home ; and on Friday afternoon on 
reaching home he was in the habit of passing back of 
them in their stable and stroking each one in turn 
lovingly. On Monday mornings when he left home for 
another five days in De Stad there was often a lump 
in his throat, especially when the aged shepherd dog, 
Frank, who invariably accompanied him as far as the 
gate, stopped and seemed to invite him to stay. Oh, he 
would have given the world and all it might ever hold 
for the privilege of remaining. But there was something 
still stronger in him than this passionate desire 
which bade him go. Often, secretly afraid that his 
mother might suspect the heaviness of heart with which 
he went, he forced himself crudely to whistle a tune. 

But the look of tragedy soon returned; and the 
desolation in his heart grew and grew until he reached 
the little bridge a mile away from home. He always 
stopped to look down at the water, and he always was 
in a mood to enact the little drama that had gradually 
[ 88 ] 


Oom Bartel 


39 


constructed itself in his mind. He saw himself falling 
in. He saw his body hauled to shore by white-faced 
men. He saw himself brought home and his body laid 
out — perhaps in the minister’s study — the sheet 
drawn over him and he at peace, at home! And later 
when he crossed the railroad track a still more pleasing 
drama insisted on claiming his attention. The locomo- 
tive rushed down upon him. He saw himself crushed 
under its wheels; but this time the extremity of a 
funeral was not necessary. Only his legs were cut off 
by the wheels. He went so far as to examine the rails 
to see how he would have to lie on the track to accom- 
plish this result. He saw the little body with its bleed- 
ing stumps of legs carried back to his mother and the 
minister, and to the cows and the dog Frank. And 
again he was at peace ; there would be no more parting 
for him. 

Vrouw Meesterling never suspected any pangs in 
Bram at parting. The pangs were all hers ; but having 
been accustomed all her life to bear her burdens as best 
she might, she said nothing. Forgetting self, it was 
only Bram she was concerned about. 

“You mustn’t learn too hard, Bram, mijn jongeUy** 
was invariably her parting injunction to him on Monday 
morning. 

But his lessons did not give Bram half as much con- 
cern as the strangeness of the surroundings in his uncle’s 
household. There was no woman presiding over the 
family, except a servant, Bram’s aunt having died many 
years ago; there was no one to take even remotely the 
place of his mother. Oom Bartel was entirely incapable 
of being a companion to the boy. And his cousin Case 
was half-witted. For a long time Case filled him with 


40 


Brain of the Five Corners 


horror. At night he often dreamed he saw his cousin 
entering his room, grinning but terrible. 

Oom Bartel took very seriously his promise that he 
would keep an eye on Bram. He had mapped out a 
course for his nephew for the next eleven years, and he 
relentlessly held him to the schedule. He had wound 
up the machine, so to speak, and he confidently expected 
it to run true. 

“ Don’t sit there staring at nothing,” he said ; “ you 
are here to study ; you must never forget that, Bram.” 

“ No, Oom,” Bram answered, feeling guilty. He was 
dreaming of the dog Frank and of his mother and of 
the apples in the “ pit ” in the orchard ; he was making 
mental calculations how many more hours would have 
to pass before Friday afternoon. 

And he felt that his uncle was right. He accepted 
the rebuke gratefully. He had formed a mighty ambi- 
tion to become a poet, and he saw that the path before 
him was long and arduous. It was necessary that some- 
one discipline him and keep him true to his purpose. 
He had an enormous respect for his uncle. Often when 
some of the local laymen-theologians entered the store 
Bartel Westerbaan broke a lance with them about 
Calvinism as opposed to humanism, or about the 
deplorable conditions in the American churches, or 
about the sin of belonging to a labor union. And at 
such times the boy sat back of the counter bright-eyed, 
forgetting for the moment his eternal longing for home. 
The clearcut arguments of his uncle, his eloquence in 
expressing himself, his masterful way of carrying off an 
argument, never seeming to be defeated — all this 
appealed to Bram powerfully. Timid himself and easily 
embarrassed, he admired masterfulness. He did not 


Oom Bartel 


41 


understand the arguments, but it seemed impossible 
that a man of his uncle’s learning and experience could 
be in the wrong. Whatever he stated as fact could 
hardly be anything else than fact. 

Bartel Westerbaan was a man of powerful build and 
positive personality. Moreover he was a man of some 
formal education, as well as of considerable miscel- 
laneous information. When first he had come to 
America and settled in De Stad he had set out to 
become a minister. To that end he had attended Chris- 
tian College for two years. But at the end of that 
period there had been an episode in his life that he 
never referred to and of which he tried never to think. 
It had resulted in his elimination from the college, as 
much because of his own inability to adjust himself to 
a plane that carried with it humiliation and loss of 
dignity, as because of the action of the authorities. 
He had been forced into a business career, but he always 
felt that he possessed gifts that could have been utilized 
in the pulpit. And in lieu of a better audience he often 
gave vent to his oratorical impulse to a customer or 
anyone else who had the leisure and the inclination to 
listen. 

Frequently, however, erstwhile passionate admirers 
of him became lukewarm, their very admiration worn 
thin by Bartel’s constant demand for more admiration, 
so that often the merchant felt that his powers were 
being wasted. When, therefore, the fair-haired, large- 
eyed boy with the curious look of questioning timidity 
in his face became part of Bartel’s household and 
showed by every look and gesture that he was drinking 
in the wisdom that flowed from the lips of his wonderful 
uncle, said uncle suddenly began to take a new interest 


42 


Bram of the Five Corners 


in life, and he poured forth of the abundance of his 
stores whenever opportunity offered. Sometimes he 
spoke to the boy directly ; but his sense of humor, small 
though it was, told him that there was something incon- 
gruous in throwing pompous words and phrases at the 
head of a mere boy. Most frequently therefore he 
impressed the lad indirectly when apparently he was 
addressing his remarks to someone else. 

Bartel Westerbaan appealed to the mind of Bram 
Meesterling; Dominie Wijnberg appealed to the heart 
of him. But Bram did not understand this. He was 
merely reacting to each as nature led him to react. 

Late one afternoon Bartel Westerbaan had been 
holding forth on the danger that lurks in humanism. 
He had been reading long passages from Het Gere- 
formeerde Weekblad^ the files of which he kept on a 
shelf in the store. He had become eloquent, and had 
completely annihilated Foppe Vanhuis, who had spoken 
up for American institutions, for labor unions, and for 
the rights of the people generally. Oom Bartel had 
towered over his adversary. Bram did not understand 
the contention, but he understood that Oom Bartel had 
a gi'asp of the subject that made him a giant. Oom 
Bartel had been positive that he was right. He always 
was positive that he was right. And Bram felt that he 
must be right. Submit any problem to him and he could 
give the solution, Bram felt sure. 

“ How could anyone believe any different ? ” he 
thought at various points in the argument. There was 
a thrill for him in his uncle’s clearcut statements, a 
thrill such as would have caused a reflex thrill of self- 
satisfaction in Bartel, could he have known it. 

The boy sat back of the counter, bright-eyed and 


Oom Bartel 


43 


unseeing, long after his uncle and Foppe had left the 
store. Dusk was settling upon the world, and the 
shelves and bales of cloth were becoming indistinct in 
the shimmering shadows that slowly deepened. Here 
and there along the street in the other shops lights were 
beginning to appear, but Bram sat motionless, for- 
getting to turn the electric switch. Quiet had fallen 
upon De Stad, and no customers broke in on the boy’s 
reveries. His thin face was aglow with exaltation that 
made him oblivious to his surroundings. Something in 
him had been stirred by the resounding phrases of his 
uncle. He was conscious of a reaching out in him to 
something that was wholly desirable but that he could 
not define or clearly perceive. Filled with wonder though 
he was at his uncle’s marvelous learning, he was curi- 
ously unconscious of a feeling of humility in the 
presence of it. It seemed but the promise of prizes that 
life was holding out and that might be attained by him 
who would learn to labor and to wait. The boy was 
conscious of farflung vistas of wonder in the unexplored 
regions of his soul, and there stirred within him forces 
and powers that made him reach out with vague and 
undefined longing. 

“ Well, I guess I gave him enough to keep him think- 
ing for a while,” said Oom Bartel re-entering the store. 

“ Ja, Oom,” was all Bram could say. 

And he found himself wishing that his uncle had not 
referred to the matter. He did not know why, but 
somehow the reference seemed a jarring note. He felt 
instinctively that Dominie Wijnberg would not have 
spoken in this way. His uncle was wonderful; there 
was no doubt about that. His learning and his elo- 
quence and his clearcut argument invested him with an 


44 


Bram of the Five Corners 


atmosphere of power. They made the timid boy think 
it worth while to endure the misery of longing for 
home, if some day he could attain unto a similar power. 
But his uncle’s self-satisfaction somehow seemed to 
cheapen it a bit. 

But that thought eventually brought a certain satis- 
faction. For the ideal that was embodied in his uncle 
had seemed to be incompatible with the ideal that was 
embodied in Dominie Wijnberg. His comparison of the 
two men was instinctive. While he was lost in passionate 
admiration for Oom Bartel’s wisdom and eloquence and 
learning, somehow he had felt himself out of tune with 
the minister. And being out of tune with the minister 
had seemed disloyal. Dominie Wijnberg was all that 
Oom Bartel was not. Bram sensed somehow that Oom 
Bartel could not sympathize with the minister’s point 
of view. 

All this was so dimly perceived by the boy that he 
could not have put a hundredth of it into words. He 
merely was groping vaguely for something to which to 
hitch the longings of his soul. And he did not perceive 
clearly that in reality there was going on in him a 
struggle between admiration for the Oom Bartel ideal 
and loyalty toward the Dominie Wijnberg ideal. There 
were elements in him that responded to each. 

“ This humanism, what for a thing is that? ” Vrouw 
Poppema asked. “ I read so much about that in Het 
Weehhlad, but the fne of it I can’t just see.” 

The question was directed at Bartel Westerbaan. 
Bartel had come to the Five Corners on Friday after- 
noon with Bram and he had found Vrouw Poppema 
paying an afternoon call at Vrouw Meesterling’s. 


Oom Bartel 


45 


Oom Bartel cleared his throat. Here was an un- 
looked for opportunity. He was not daunted by the 
fact that Dominie Wijnberg was in the room. Bartel’s 
attitude toward Dominie Wijnberg was slightly con- 
temptuous. The minister, he understood, had never 
been a “ heavyweight ” in the pulpit, and had never been 
famed for his expositions in theology. This was proved 
by the fact that he had abandoned the pulpit to go to 
Ellis island. Somehow Bartel could not escape the 
thought that this step had been forced on Dominie 
Wijnberg by reason of the fact that he had failed in the 
legitimate field of the ministry. 

“ Ja, now,” he said, that is not disposed of in just 
a word or two. To understand the word humanism 
aright you must delve deep. You say you have read 
column after column in Het Weekblad about it, and yet 
you have not grasped the fine of it ; and that I can well 
understand. Het Weekblad is doing a great service to 
point out to the people the antithesis between Calvinism 
and humanism. I have on occasion myself written 
something about that, which perhaps you have noticed.” 

“ Ja, ja, I have,” Vrouw Poppema hastened to say; 
“ that is why I asked you. Seein’ that you wrote about 
it I told myself, ‘ He can make it plain to me.’ ” 

“ A woman who certainly has a great deal of sense,” 
thought Bartel. 

A right understanding of humanism is so impor- 
tant,” he said, “ because humanism is all that Calvinism 
is not. Humanism makes man the centrum; Calvinism has 
God for its centrum. Just remember that, Vrouw Pop- 
pema. It is the touch-stone for all things. Take labor 
unions. They are for the betterment of the workingmen. 
Well and good, but they don’t go out from the right 


46 


Bram of the Five Corners 


motive, and so they are all wrong. They are meant to 
improve the condition of the workingman, but it is of 
marly for man, and by man; God is not taken into consid- 
eration. And so it is with most of the plans and schemes 
to improve society. They all go out from the wrong 
starting point. All is done for society and by society, 
and God is left out. There is this new foolishness about 
improving the race. You know, Vrouw Poppema, they 
are talking about making the stock of men and women 
better in the same way as they are breeding blooded 
cows and horses.” 

“ Heden! heden! ” exclaimed Vrouw Poppema, “ is it 
possible.? What is the world coming to.?” 

Vrouw Meesterling also ceased her knitting for a 
moment, but she said nothing. 

“ As I was saying,” continued Bartel, “ that foolish- 
ness has now begun to fill the minds of the people. But 
it is rank humanism from start to finish — improving 
the race of man by man, for man. That’s what it is.” 

“ That seems as clear as anything could be,” thought 
Bram, who had silently been listening to the discussion. 
But just then Dominie Wijnberg, who had not ven- 
tured to interfere in Bartel Westerbaan’s explanations, 
spoke : 

‘‘ And yet, in spite of what you say and in spite of 
the clearness and force with which you put it, Mr. 
Westerbaan, real human problems are not solved that 
way. Personally I haven’t much faith in clearly thought 
out rules of logic — in systems as guides of human 
conduct. While there is perhaps much that is over- 
drawn and faddish in this new movement you speak of, 
yet I cannot help but feel that there is back of it a very 
earnest desire to give our children a better chance than 


Oom Bartel 


47 


we have had; to give them stronger bodies, stronger 
minds. I can’t see that that is not reckoning with God. 
I must confess that Het Weekblad somehow does not 
convince me.” 

When Bartel Westerbaan had finally disposed of 
Dominie Wijnberg, he looked at Bram in triumph. 
Bartel forgot Vrouw Poppema’s interest in the dis- 
cussion and launched forth to demolish the minister’s 
objection, to annihilate him, to cut the ground from 
under his feet. He had no desire to convince the 
minister, but he had a passionate desire to best him. 
And when he looked at Bram there was misery in the 
heart of the boy. Bram saw that the minister had 
been defeated in argument, and yet instinctively he sided 
with him. His reason told him that Oom Bartel was 
right ; his instinct told him that the minister could not 
be wrong. Fortunately he was not called upon to 
choose. 

“ Logically I suppose you can prove your case,” 
said Dominie Wijnberg, refusing to become excited, 
“ but I am not convinced. I never can depend on logic. 
When I am face to face with a human problem, I cannot 
stop to ask whether it is humanistic or Calvinistic. I 
simply try to remember that the man or the woman in 
need is my brother or my sister. I have found that the 
best method for me. Probably you can do most good 
by adhering to strict logic. If so I have no fault to 
find with your method.” 

Later, when the minister and Bram had left for the 
orchard, Bartel continued his explanation to Vrouw 
Poppema. 

“ And to think that he should speak that way of Het 
Weekblad! ” exclaimed Vrouw Poppema, “ if he’d said 


48 


Bram of the Five Corners 


something like that of De Grovdwet, now, what ain’t 
what you might call a religious paper, that would be 
somethin’. I’m afraid we’ll get into trouble with him.” 

“ If you don’t, you people don’t think farther than 
your noses are long,” said Bartel. 

“ But you must remember that the poor boy is sick,” 
said Vrouw Meesterling. “ He is not bad. Bram thinks 
he’s a god. He’s not bad, only he ain’t himself.” 

“ You always let your feelings run away with you,” 
was Bartel’s answer. “ Such a thing as humanism can’t 
be expected to cut so much of a figure in a small country 
place like the Five Corners; but I can tell you that if 
we had him in our church in De Stad, where the people 
keep posted, he wouldn’t last three weeks.” 

That night after the supper dishes had been cleared 
away Vrouw Poppema told her husband, Berend, of the 
argument of the afternoon. 

“ Nu, Berend, Bartel Westerbaan told me all about 
what this humanism is what we read so much about in 
Het Gereformeerde Weekblad.'* 

“ Zoo? ” said Berend interested mildly, “ and what 
did he have to say about it.^ ” 

“ He says as how it’s people wantin’ to breed people 
like they breed cows and horses. That’s queer now 
because I never saw nothin’ about that in Het Weekhlad. 
But he says so, and he ought to know because he writes 
some of it.” 

“ Ja, there are queer things and people in the world,” 
said Berend sagely. 

“ But that Dominie should uphold with such a thing, 
that’s more than I can understand,” continued his wife 
energetically ; “ you and the consistory will have to keep 
a good eye on him. Least, so Bartel thinks.” 


Oom Bartel 


49 


“ Far as I can see, he preaches all right.” 

“ But this humanism is dangerous, at least so Bartel 
says.” 

Berend Poppema filled his corncob pipe with “ Rob 
Roy ” tobacco and put his stockinged feet on the front 
of the cook stove. His wife knew that while he was 
seated in this attitude of contemplation it would be 
useless to interrupt him, and so she continued knitting 
energetically in silence. 


CHAPTER V 


THE BIRTH OF LOVE 

B RAM was fourteen. He had been at Christian 
College for a year, and now he was back at the 
Five Comers to spend the summer helping his brothers 
on the farm. Whenever he said something people looked 
at him a second time, as though feeling that somehow 
there was a difference. True, he had been at school 
for a year; but during that time he had been home at 
the Five Comers, only two miles distant from De Stad, 
so often that he could hardly be said to have been away. 
Some there were who noticed that it was his voice. It 
had quite suddenly become a man’s voice; it had lost 
the appealing high keys of boyhood. 

“ A very common phenomenon,” Bram’s instructors 
at Christian College would have said, if they had 
thought about it at all; and straightway they would 
have dismissed the matter as unworthy of con- 
sideration. 

“ Bram’s voice is changin’,” said those of the people 
of the Five Corners who took an interest in the boy; 
and they, too, dismissed it as worthy of no more than 
an idle comment, as one might say, “ The weather’s 
fine,” merely for the sake of saying something. 

Bram himself had not noticed it, so gradual had been 
the change that had transformed the high keys into 
the deep tones of approaching manhood. And if he had 
noticed it he would have dismissed the thought as 
unimportant. 


[ 50 ] 


The Birth of Love 


51 


And it would have been unimportant if the change 
of voice had been the only change in the body of Bram 
Meesterling; but the changes were legion. The man- 
voice was the only evidence of the wonderful transforma- 
tion that B ram’s friends could recognize. Hardly a 
cell in the boy’s body that had not changed fully as 
much as the quality of the voice. If the complete story 
could be told of all the changes in the body of Bram 
Meesterling, very much would be known of “ what God 
and man is,” even though the knowledge of these mys- 
teries might not be as complete as that which the 
English poet dreamed of when he beheld the flower in 
the crannied wall. Yet the instructors of Bram dis- 
missed the subject as unimportant; his mother and his 
brothers thought it not worth a second thought ; Bram 
himself had not noticed the change. 

There were mysteries in the body of Bram Meesterling 
that a boy could not know about. They were mysteries 
that even learned men can only wonder at. Forces were 
gathering in him that must needs gather in the normal 
male on the threshold between boyhood and manhood. 
Thus, many years before he would be ready to assume 
a man’s burden in the world, his body was getting ready 
to do its appointed work. These mysterious forces in 
him would develop and grow ; vulgar-minded men would 
seek to make them the theme of unclean thoughts in 
the heart of the growing man; and lo, some day, the 
man, mature and strong, would come to feel that those 
forces were of the essence of the glory of life ; for in 
them, he would see, lies the continuing life from genera- 
tion to generation, and on them is built a human rela- 
tionship that is holy. 

But of all these mysteries Bram could know nothing; 


52 


Bram of the Five Corners 


and when suddenly one night he dreamed of love he did 
not know that that dream was only another manifesta- 
tion of the new life that was awakening in him. He did 
not know that the dream and his change of voice were 
related, that they meant the same thing. 

He was flitting along the country highway leading 
away from the Five Comers to De Stad. Ethereal, 
gloriously free, with nothing to trammel or hinder him, 
he was skimming over the landscape — always pursuing, 
always reaching out for something, never quite attain- 
ing his desire, yet always rejoicing in the pursuit. The 
ethereal being he was following was just as untrammelled 
as he, and just as free. There was the light of morning 
twilight on her face ; and though ever eluding his grasp 
and ever receding, she seemed to hold out an ever 
renewed invitation. The sylphlike lines of her body 
affected him strangely. There was a fierce hunger in 
him to touch the ethereal shadow ; but at the same time 
there was exaltation in the thought that the shadow kept 
forever just beyond his grasp. There was exhilaration 
in the pursuit and it made him tingle. He was only 
beginning to discover how rich life might be. 

And all the next day Bram walked as in a dream. 
He was exalted. Something strange and new and 
precious had come to him, and he cherished it in secret, 
as was his wont, feeling that it was too intangible and 
too sacredly personal for confidences. No such experi- 
ence had ever come to another, he felt sure. Millions, 
since the world began, have felt sure of that. Bram 
would not have believed, even if the thought could have 
come to him, that instinctively even the brute feels the 
exaltation of the call of the sex forces in him and listens 
from afar off to the lure of their voices. 


The Birth of Love 


53 


Bram did not recognize it at all for what it really 
was. He merely wondered how earth’s commonplace 
people could be content with their commonplace lot; 
how all the commonplace husbands could be content to 
look forever upon the faces of their commonplace wives. 
He felt he could never be satisfied until the reality would 
at least approximate the dream. He was responding 
to the call of his body, as needs he must; and it was 
significant of the bent of his nature that the call made 
him look upward instead of downward. 

Three o’clock in the morning, and even the chil- 
dren at the Five Corners were awake; rather, the 
children had taken the initiative and had eagerly roused 
their elders from tlie heavy, almost stupid, sleep of 
exhaustion. Kerosene lamps sent their faint glow from 
numerous homes, and lanterns traveled hither and 
thither between barns and houses. 

Bram had been among the first to issue forth, lantern 
in hand, to feed the horses generously in preparation 
for the long trip that was to be made in the dawn. 
For many weeks he had awakened each morning with a 
vague feeling of disappointment. Without confessing 
it even to himself, he had hoped for a recurrence of his 
dream. But day had succeeded day, and somehow the 
old pursuits no longer seemed to satisfy him. He hun- 
gered for something, he did not know what. 

But this morning the excitement of the preparation 
for the blackberry picking expedition made him forget 
the mysterious yearnings that had oppressed him. He 
was as eager for the outing as any, and before Wilm 
had fairly opened his eyes Bram was dressed and ready 
to begin the preparations. 


54 


Bram of the Five Corners 


Oh, there was romance and the spirit of adventure 
and the wonderful realization of the very spice of life 
in these simple berry picking expeditions ! Though his 
imagination was perhaps more nimble than those of most 
of the others who filled the wagons, Bram was by no 
means the only one for whom there was a thrill and a 
glory in the hurry and the excitement of the prepara- 
tion. Mothers anxiously filling large baskets with bread 
and cheese and dried beef and pickles and early apples 
and celery and radishes and salt and sugar and hard 
boiled eggs; fathers giving directions about the care 
of the horses and helping older sons to fill bags with 
oats and hay ; little boys eagerly tucking the provisions 
in the spacious recesses of the wagons ; their little sisters 
no less eagerly scurrying hither and thither that no 
detail of the preparation might be overlooked ; the older 
boys roguishly trying, in moments stolen from the work 
of preparation, to give a touch of picturesqueness to 
the rough disarray of their farm clothes ; and the older 
girls anxiously adding a touch of color or a bit of ribbon 
to the old clothes they must needs wear because of the 
briars they would encounter in the woods — such was 
the preparation for the momentous trip. 

And then, away and ahoy into the gloom of the 
morning before the dawn ! Gay chatter and the excited 
shrieks of the little boys and girls; horses patiently 
plodding along the dusty country roads ; here and there 
some one breaking crudely into song and others taking 
up the refrain, only to forget the words and the tunes 
when another chorus on another wagon begins a rival 
concert; lively badinage carried on loudly from one 
wagon to another, punctuated with loud shrieks of 
laughter; song again, and shouts to the sleepers in the 


The Birth of Love 


55 


farmhouses along the way; exclamations as the sun 
appears dispelling the clouds that had filled many with 
concern ; and on and on, away from the familiar scenes, 
through the hamlets and villages, on to the woods 
along the lake where the juicy berry grows — oh, there 
was the joy of life in the outing, in this rough-and- 
tumble, rapturous, carefree rural picnic! 

“ I’ve lost my way,” said Bram. He said it in Dutch. 
Although he had spent a year at Christian College he 
had not yet lost the habit of thinking in that language. 
In his anxiety not to be outdone by anyone in number 
of quarts of berries picked, he had penetrated far into 
the woods to find the sunny patches where the large 
ones grew. Now the afternoon was far advanced and 
he realized suddenly that he was alone and that he had 
lost his sense of directions. A very few hours more and 
the return trip would be begun. Bram did not relish 
the thought of walking twelve miles to the Corners. 

Tentatively he halloed in a voice that seemed loud 
amid the stillness of the place. But it was not loud 
enough to call forth an answering caU from the other 
berry pickers wherever they might be. Again he shouted 
and again and yet again, but there was no response. 

He sat down to think, and absent-mindedly he began 
eating the berries from the bucket beside him. “ I’U 
try again,” he said, again in Dutch. 

This time there was a faint answering call, but it came 
from a direction where he felt sure none of his party 
could be. On the chance of finding some one who could 
tell him the way back to camp Bram halloed again ; and 
again came the answering call, this time apparently a 
little nearer. 


56 


Brmn of the Five Corners 


Suddenly Bram was in a flutter, and involuntarily his 
mind returned to his dream. 

“ It’s a girl ! ” he exclaimed, wonder in his eyes ; but 
instead of receding, as the figure in the dream had done, 
she kept coming nearer. Bram forgot to call. 

Straightway there came a note of distress from the 
girl. Bram had a feeling that she was pursuing him, 
although he knew that she could be none other than a 
girl who like him had lost her way. There was more in 
the voice than the anxiety of one lost in the woods. To 
Bram there was a strange, enticing appeal in it. He 
could not get the figure of his dream out of his mind. 
And always the voice continued coming nearer and 
nearer. After each call of his own it became more 
distinct and clearer in tone. 

“ Oh ! ” she exclaimed with a pretty gesture of sur- 
prise when Bram broke through the underbrush. 

Bram was inarticulate. He stood looking at her all 
atremble with embarrassment. His first thought was 
that she was not the figure of his dream; and on the 
heels of that came the thought that probably the figure 
of his dream had not been as perfect as he had imagined 
at the time. And he was acutely conscious of the fact 
that this girl was older than he. 

She was undeniably pretty, and it was a type of pret- 
tiness to which a country boy like Bram Meesterling was 
peculiarly susceptible. Always accustomed to seeing 
the heavier-featured women of the Five Comers, he 
found something angelic in the thin face of the girl. 
There was also something about the way she had 
arranged her hair that stamped her as different from 
the other girls of the Five Corners. 

“ You are lost, too.? ” she said in English. 


The Birth of Love 


57 


J a,'' said the boy, from force of habit employing 
the Dutch. Immediately conscious of how it sounded, 
he blushed. 

The girl giggled in appreciation of his evident 
embarrassment, and Bram did not think of the giggle 
as offensive. 

“ I was so afraid I wouldn’t find no one,” she said, 
this time in Dutch, as though in an effort to put the boy 
at ease. Then, evidently deciding that she would 
rather cut a figure in his imagination than have him 
at ease, she returned to the English. 

“ Are we far from the wagons.^ ” 

“ I do not know,” said Bram, carefully choosing his 
words. He determined to guard against Dutch idiom; 
he would not expose himself to this radiant creature. 

Presently they were talking more at ease. There 
was a subtle invitation in every look and gesture of the 
girl ; and, boy like, Bram was flattered by the mysterious 
allurement that an older woman holds for a young boy, 
because of the mere fact that she is older and more 
mature. 

It appeared she belonged to the berry picking party 
from the Five Corners, having come on one of the other 
wagons. 

“You don’t know me, do you.^ ” she giggled, and 
Bram in his embarrassment managed to answer some- 
how that he did not. 

“ I’ve lived at the Five Corners three weeks,” she 
volunteered, “ and I’ve seen you lots and lots of times, 
but you would never look at me in church.” 

The blood went furiously pounding in Bram’s veins. 
The world seemed full of song, and oh for the power to 
express what he felt! 


5S 


Bram of the Five Corners 


But he merely stood there in silence, a bashful smile 
on his lips. 

The girl giggled a great deal and she chattered in- 
cessantly. Bram stood bashfully silent, now and then 
eating a berry from his bucket — unconsciously, not 
knowing what he was doing. Occasionally he spoke in 
monosyllables in answer to a question direct. He had 
forgotten that they were lost and that there was neces- 
sity for haste to reach the wagons before sundown. The 
thin, pretty face of the girl held him. He had an odd 
feeling that he was living his dream of love, though the 
setting was different and this girl did not remind him 
of the figure of his dream. 

The girl had not forgotten that she was lost, but she 
was thoroughly enjoying herself; she had no intention 
of losing the pleasure of the moment by worrying about 
the return home. She was vivacious and gay and full 
of light laughter. She must be several years older 
than he, Bram felt rather than thought; and he felt 
very humble in the presence of the lively, giggling 
creature who had come upon him in the vast silence of 
the wood. There was worship in his look, and he stood 
in an absurdly respectful attitude, listening eagerly 
to every syllable that easily and thoughtlessly fell from 
her lips. 

“ Let’s see how your berries taste,” she said laugh- 
ingly ; “ guess they ain’t so sour as mine.” And coming 
very near to him she playfully picked out two or three 
juicy berries from Bram’s bujcket. As she did so she 
touched his hand, by accident apparently. 

Bram trembled and the flesh of his hand quivered. 

“ Now you taste mine,” she babbled on, and when 
Bram’s hand refused to reach into the bucket of the 


The Birth of Love 


59 


radiant creature the girl picked out a berry herself. 
Shrieking with laughter she forced it between his lips. 
She did it impudently, roguishly. Oh, he tasted that 
berry ! And he had felt her soft, berry-stained fingers 
pressed against his lips. And they had remained pressed 
there longer than had seemed necessary to force the 
berry into his mouth. The timid country boy was hot 
with a tumultuous excitement, and he trembled with the 
ecstasy of the touch. But he stood there awkward and 
ill at ease. 

“ How beautiful that scene is,” he said after a little, 
during an interval in the girPs rapid-fire talk. He 
pointed to a bit of dell below them. The words were 
stiff and there was no feeling in them. They did not 
at all convey the idea that the scene was beautiful. 
But Bram was filled with an agony of resentment against 
his own awkwardness and inarticulateness. Why must 
he stand there cutting such a sorry figure before this 
wonderful creature Why must he stand there tongue- 
tied? In his dream he had been eloquent. And often 
when alone he had felt that he could sway even the 
heart of a woman. So in desperation he remarked on 
the beauty of the scene. 

“ What ? where ? ” she queried, following with her 
eyes the direction in which he pointed. 

She came a step nearer. Pretending to be interested 
in the scene he indicated, leaning forward so as to look 
over his shoulder, she carelessly laid her hand on his 
other shoulder, her bare arm resting lightly across the 
boy’s back. And she felt with satisfaction that he 
trembled at the touch. But her face was entirely devoid 
of appreciation of the beauty of the scene. 

It was the first time in B ram’s life that a girl had 


60 


Bram of the Five Corners 


touched him so intimately, and his skin tingled with the 
ecstasy of it. There were stirrings in his body that as 
yet he did not clearly perceive the meaning of. Some- 
thing strained and leaped and sang in his blood, and 
there was a physical exaltation that made him feel that 
for him life had begun only just at that moment. 

The girl did not offer to remove her arm, and Bram 
was afraid to stir. He stood stiff and awkward. She 
rested her head against the arm that rested on the boy’s 
shoulder. He remained standing in the same position. 

“ Let’s find the wagons,” she said presently, and to 
the surprise of the boy there was a hint of petulance in 
her voice. In what could he have displeased her? He 
turned hot with shame at the thought that he might 
unconsciously have done something to offend her. 

They struggled gallantly through the underbrush, 
Bram doing his best to make the going easy for her. 
She became animated again and she often burst forth 
into excited shrieks of laughter. Frequently she found 
occasion to take his hand, to be helped over fallen trees. 
Bram never of his own accord touched her. 

When they finally reached the wagons the other berry 
pickers had been impatiently waiting for them. The 
sun had gone down, and the boy and girl were greeted 
with shouts of impatience. They became the butt of the 
crude wit of the others, most of them much older than 
they. Some, in their desire to arouse laughter, resorted 
to vulgarities ; and though there was a sickly s'mile on 
Bram’s lips, his very soul was outraged. It seemed to 
him as though vile hands were being laid on something 
that was infinitely pure and precious. And he was 
powerless to protect it. 

But the companion of his adventure laughed as 


The Birth of Love 


61 


heartily as any of the others. She seemed to enjoy the 
interest she had aroused; frequently she encouraged her 
companions with remarks of her own that stirred them 
to renewed endeavor. 

Although she belonged to another wagon, in the 
excitement of the hurried departure the girl and Bram 
had climbed on the same wagon. They sat side by side 
in the loose hay. The horses jogged patiently through 
the evening twilight that was gradually yielding to the 
deeper night shadows. The girl’s hand rested familiarly 
on Bram’s arm; he sat silent, looking self-consciously 
before him. 

Again there was song and laughter and interchange 
of badinage. Again the choruses on the different wagons 
struck up rival concerts, and sang out of tune and with 
a touch of glorious abandon the old familiar songs, 
ranging from gospel hymns to “John Brown’s Body.” 
Again the farmhouses they passed were saluted with 
shout and laughter, and every farmer working late in 
his field near the highway became the butt of crude but 
kindly jest. Again in each hamlet and village the 
choruses on the five wagons joined forces in a grand 
outburst of sound, forgetting for the moment their 
rivalries that they might impress the villagers. Again 
there was the flavor of romance and the realization of 
the very spice of life in the heart of each youth and 
maiden. 

Darkness fell upon the world and each farmhouse 
became a dot of light. Over the wide fields on each side 
of the dusty road hung long, low streaks of fog, and a 
slight touch of chill was in the air. There were a few 
stars, and over the horizon the bright rim of an enor- 
mous moon gradually came into clearer view. Uncon- 


Bram of the Five Corners 




Bciously, as the shadows deepened, the rollicking tunes 
had given way to the more tender love songs, and even 
the smallest boys and girls told with emotion how on 
their lips a question had trembled when they were “ see- 
ing Nellie home.” Here and there on the wagons the 
calloused, work-bruised hand of a youth found the 
hardly less calloused hand of the maiden sitting on the 
loose hay beside him. Here and there a maiden, bolder 
than her sisters, rested her head against the strong 
shoulder beside her. Here and there arm stole around 
waist. A more tender note stole into the familiar love 
songs ; and though the tune was indifferently kept and 
the words, many of them, were hard to recognize as 
they came from the lips of the singers, yet the heart of 
youth spoke to the heart of youth and told the story in 
which alone lies the meaning of life. 

Bram sat musing on the events of the afternoon. Only 
occasionally, so as not to appear conspicuous by his 
silence, he joined in one of the songs; but soon he 
relapsed into silence. He watched the moon rise above 
the horizon. He looked at the stars and there was 
exaltation in his heart. Something new and wonderful 
had come to him this day, and he was filled with awe 
in the presence of it. 

The girl by his side shivered slightly; she said some- 
thing about the fog that hung low over the earth making 
her cold. In the darkness she found Bram’s hand. 
Imitating the other girls she rested her head against 
Bram’s shoulder. He sat stiff and erect in timid 
embarrassment, though he quivered at the touch of her. 
She was taller than he, and after a time, as the love 
songs became more tender, she once more put her arm 
across his shoulder. Then suddenly she drew his head 


The Birth of Love 


63 


down upon her lap and caressed his face with the tips 
of her fingers. Bram closed his eyes. The figure of 
his dream now seemed a pale, meaningless shadow. 

And late that night when he lay in his own bedroom, 
staring with sleepless eyes into the darkness, it occurred 
to him that he did not know even her name. 


CHAPTER VI 


HATTIE 

I T was several months before Bram talked to Hattie 
Wanhope again. He was only fourteen, and for him 
the sex call was still very faint. But he had heard the 
call, the opinion of writers of juvenile fiction notwith- 
standing. Outwardly he was like the boy who has 
become a type — the boy who always shows a fierce 
antipathy to the femininity of his own age. But in 
his heart of hearts there was the memory of his dream, 
the faint longing, ever present, for the translation of 
that dream into reality. 

Nor had Bram learned much about the girl who had 
shared his adventure in the woods. Not for worlds 
would he have referred to her or asked about her. 
Whenever her name was mentioned or whenever any 
member of her family was discussed he listened eagerly, 
but withal with apprehension. The unsolicited informa- 
tion he gathered in this way was very meager, hardly 
more than what he had already learned from the girl 
herself. 

School opening soon after the berry picking expedi- 
tion took Bram away from the Five Corners at least 
five days a week. But on Sundays he now always took 
a seat in church from which he would be reasonably 
sure to be able to see Hattie. Very often she stared 
at him from across the room, but she always found the 
boy’s eyes downcast; never once did the ready smile 
[ 64 ] 


Hattie 


65 


on her face meet an answering smile from him. And 
sometimes she doubted whether she had actually held the 
boy’s head cushioned on her lap. She could not know 
that Bram, eagerly watching her, took the slightest 
movement on her part as a signal to look down, coloring 
as he did so. 

Hattie was three years older than Bram. She was 
at least five years nearer physical maturity than he. 
Under ordinary circumstances there would have been 
an unbridgeable gulf between them — unbridgeable at 
least for half a dozen years or more to come; but in 
reality there was no gulf at all. Curiously it did not 
seem incongruous to anyone that seventeen year old 
Hattie Wanhope should nurse a girlish infatuation for 
a fourteen year old boy. No one ever said that Hattie 
was different from the other girls of the Five Corners ; 
no one ever even thought so, except perhaps that they 
considered her prettier, and yet — 

‘‘ Hattie is such a child,” said Vrouw Poppema to 
her husband, Berend ; “ such a child. I was tellin’ her 
the other day, ‘ Will you never grow up, you such a 
big girl.^ but she only giggled and began talkin’ about 
Bram Meesterling.” Vrouw Poppema spoke the con- 
cluding words in a tone of disgust. 

Berend seemed only mildly interested. Never since 
the Wanhope family had settled on the farm next to his 
own a few months ago had he seen much of them. 
Though they were Hollanders, he recognized them as 
somehow different, and Hattie he knew by sight only. 

“What is the world cornin’ to.?” demanded Vrouw 
Poppema as though she had a right to an answer; 
“ the boys and girls is hardly out of their baby dresses 
but they start to ^ go together.’ ” 


66 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ It used to be entirely different,” she continued warm- 
ing up to her subject; “ it used to be so that we were 
kept at home and grew up quiet and respectable. But 
now — boys and girls get married while they are still 
children.” There was infinite contempt in her tone. 

The good lady did not remember that she herself had 
entered holy wedlock before her eighteenth birthday. 
Nor did she remember that on the average the marriage 
age had been advanced by several years since her girl- 
hood. The myth about the “ good old days ” is no 
more than a myth. It is very likely that ages before 
Adam the old men in the cave bewailed the fact that 
their children were not as hairy as they had been in 
their youth ! 

“ And Bram leamin’ for dominie! ” continued Vrouw 
Poppema ; “ that makes it all the worse.” She counted 
on her fingers : ‘‘ One, two, three, four, five, six — seven 
— ten years more before he will be through, if he don’t 
drop, and here they are already ‘ goin’ together.’ ” 
Again there was infinite scorn in her voice. “ I should 
think Vrouw Meesterling would know better, or else 
Anton would.” 

“ Come, come now,” reprimanded Berend, “ you 
make too much of the silly talk of boys and girls. Bram 
looks to me like a steady boy what don’t think overmuch 
about such things.” 

“ Well, they all say it,” defended Vrouw Poppema 
weakly. She usually restrained her eloquence whenever 
her husband took the trouble to take up an argument 
seriously. 

“ All say it,” he imitated ; “ who says it, I’d like to 
know? A thousand to one it’s only the girl herself 
what’s sayin’ it, and all the others are only teasin’ her 


Hattie 


67 


and Bram a little. Just like her to say a thing like 
that. That is, I guess it’s just like her if she’s anything 
like the rest of the family. Say what you please, but 
that family ain’t what you would call ‘ all there.’ 
They’re queer. I can’t say just in what way, but I 
can’t get hitched on to any of them. Maybe it’s laziness, 
I don’t know.” 

Gradually the theme of the relations of Bram and 
Hattie lost its savor at the Five Corners. Only Hattie 
nurtured it as best she could. As for Bram, he was 
thankful that it was no longer being referred to; but 
secretly he still looked upon his adventure and its after- 
math as the most wonderful experience of his life. 

He never exchanged a word with Hattie. Always in 
his room, when no one was near, he held imaginary 
conversations with her, and in those conversations he was 
eloquent and fluent. He told her the most wonderful 
things. And always she answered in monosyllables, 
merely assenting to what he was telling her. The con- 
versation never concerned her, and for that reason her 
part in it was necessarily small. Always he spoke about 
himself — so egotistic was even this modest, unassuming, 
bashful country boy. He told her of his plans for the 
future; of what he would be and of what he would do. 
He recited his own verses to her, and her admiration for 
his genius was unbounded. He told her of the many 
things he had learned since entering Christian Col- 
lege, and he saw something like hero-worship in her 
imaginary eyes. It was very sweet to be so thoroughly 
appreciated and to be sure of complete sympathy, and 
Bram was very happy. 

But when he met her he was tongue-tied; and even 
when she made advances he flushed with embarrassment 


68 


Bram of the Five Corners 


and hurried away from the necessity of talking. He 
saw the older students on the campus raise their hats 
to the “ co-eds,” and gingerly and awkwardly he tried 
to raise his cap to Hattie. 

Unluckily Vrouw Poppema happened to be near. 

“ Did you see that.? ” she exclaimed to Berend, “ did 
you see that.? ” 

“ What.? ” Berend grumbled. 

“ What.? Ain’t you got no eyes.? Bram Meesterling 
was liftin’ his cap to Hattie. That means somethin’. 
You can’t tell me that that don’t mean nothin’ — liftin’ 
his cap to Hattie, liftin’ his cap to Plattie,” she 
reiterated. 

The younger set of the Five Corners took up the 
incident eagerly, when it had been duly and fully chroni- 
cled by Vrouw Poppema. And Bram, unhappy wight, 
suddenly found that the food of the gods had turned to 
ashes, and that happiness had died out of the world. 
Whenever he saw a student raising his hat to a college 
girl he shuddered, and a wave of embarrassment over- 
whelmed him. 

Hattie was jubilant. It was a distinction that had 
never fallen to the lot of any of the girls of the Five 
Corners to have anyone raise his hat to her. She fully 
agreed with Vrouw Poppema that it surely did “ mean 
somethin’,” and she was not at all averse to talking 
about it. Hattie never held imaginary conversations. 
But she was very fluent when there was someone to 
listen to her. 

Bram raised his cap to Hattie no more, except when 
he was very sure that no one was near. And then he 
hurried on, never giving her an opportunity to open 
a conversation — which sometimes was a difficult feat. 


Hattie 


G9 


Often he wished he had a bicycle — a beautiful, blue- 
enameled bicycle. Then it would be easy to glide past 
her, hurriedly raise his cap and pass on — for her to 
admire him from a distance. 

Not only did Bram hold imaginary conversations but 
he frequently converted himself into an imaginary hero. 
His little drama on the bridge had gradually suffered 
an important change. It no longer ended with his dead 
body being dragged out of the water by white-faced 
men. Enter the heroine. As time went on the drama 
became more complete and more dramatic. Little 
intimate details filled themselves in and gave it life. 
Frequently it became so real to him that at the end 
Bram started as from a reverie at the drop of the 
curtain. Always Hattie fell into the water at the 
identical moment when her hero was approaching the 
bridge on his way home on Friday afternoon. Some- 
times the boy stopped to take off his coat, but more 
frequently he dashed into the water gallantly without 
that formality. How he caught her in his arms in the 
river, how she clung to him, her arms around his neck, 
how she fainted as he brought her to shore, and how 
she smiled up at him when consciousness returned — 
all this stood out clearly in the little drama. 

Occasionally the scene shifted and Bram stopped a 
madly-dashing horse, only to discover, after danger had 
passed, that Hattie was in the buggy. Sometimes also 
a ruffian was attacking her — or perhaps two ruffians. 
In the encounter that followed the burly assailants 
always took to flight, bruised and battered. But 
although these scenes were fairly vivid, the little drama 
in the river remained Bram’s favorite. 

Yet in spite of all these imagined heroic deeds Bram 


70 


Bram of the Five Corners 


Meesterling was more modest and unassuming than the 
average boy. 

Dominie Wijnberg often joined the others in chaf- 
fing Bram about Hattie. The boy was now fifteen, and 
it no longer seemed incongruous to the minister to refer 
jestingly to his supposed love affair; all the more so 
because Bram was alert and intelligent. The minister 
did not take the affair with Hattie seriously. He 
remembered his own youth and his will-o-the-wisp 
infatuations. Moreover, it seemed that in this case it 
was all a onesided affair. For that reason he felt more 
free to pretend to take it very seriously. He had no 
means of knowing how Bram often smarted under his 
laughing remarks. 

But if the minister's fun made Bram wince, it also 
eventually made the minister himself think. Bram 
would marry some day; not likely Hattie, but some 
one. It seemed almost ludicrous. 

“ And yet it is only a few years when he will be face 
to face with it,” reasoned the minister — “ only a very 
few years.” He looked thoughtful. 

Dominie Wijnberg had become cheerful now that he 
had found a new interest in Bram Meesterling. Though 
his disease had advanced he had watched its advance 
almost complacently. He still felt a passionate inter- 
est in the Ellis island work, but it was the interest of 
one who has become definitely resigned to his lot of 
being onlooker instead of participant; and gradually 
the fact had forced itself upon him that his interest in 
the little Dutch boy whose powers he saw developing 
was even more passionate than his interest in the immi- 
grants. He had definitely made up his mind that sooner 
or later he would have to drop out of the struggle, and 


Hattie 


71 


he knew that whatever he wished to do could be done 
only through another. He had a very human desire 
to make his life count in the life of another. 

“ Bram,” he said, after the two had been spiritedly 
discussing George Eliot, who at the moment happened 
to be the boy’s passion, “ I’m not going to be here 
always; and some day you will have to think things 
out alone.” 

“ Do you feel worse tonight? ” asked Bram in alarm. 

“No; I suppose it’s merely this discussion about 
George Eliot. Her relations with the Comte school 
probably set me thinking this way. They believed that 
personal influence never dies; they made that their 
religion. I suppose I like to think that after I am 
gone there will be at least one whose life will be fuller 
because of me.” 

Bram’s eyes were misty ; the conversation was assum- 
ing a serious tone. 

“ There will be thousands,” he stammered ; “ think 
of all the immigrants ! ” 

“ It’s merely a momentary weakness on my part,” 
continued the minister ; “ I suppose my illness brings 
it on. But Bram, mijn jongeriy for your own sake and 
for the sake of those who will come after you, I like to 
think that you will be big and strong — a man who 
will always stand by what is best and truest in you. 
Just forget what I said about myself.” 

“ said Bram bashfully. Eloquent in his 

imaginary conversations when he told an imaginary 
Hattie all about his plans and ambitions and aspira- 
tions, he always was tongue-tied when the subject was 
broached by a real person. 

“ It’s still a good many years off,” continued the 


72 


Brain of the Five Corners 


minister, “ but some day, when you shall have become 
a man you will, you will — marry.” 

Bram trembled. It was bad enough to have the min- 
ister speak of Hattie in jest; but to have him speak of 
her in earnest seemed unendurable. 

“ I’m not going to make fun of you and Hattie 
again.” 

A sigh of relief escaped the boy. The minister’s 
remark seemed almost irrelevant, but Bram was pro- 
foundly thankful for it. 

“ It was all meant merely as innocent fun, Bram. 
But I like to think that you will be a man who does 
not think of marriage as a subject for jest.” 

“ I wonder if I’m merely making myself ridiculous ? ” 
thought the minister — “ preaching to a fifteen year 
old boy about the seriousness of marriage.” But he 
knew that for him it would be impossible to pass on 
the flame that was in him to flesh and blood of his own. 

“ I like to think,” he continued, accepting the chance 
of making himself ridiculous, “ I like to think of you a 
few years hence as a man who will not think of himself 
alone; nor yet only of the woman you will marry; I 
like to think of you as a man who will leave the race 
stronger than you found it.” 

Bram blushed as he caught the minister’s meaning. 
The deep-seated delicacy of boyhood was his. 

‘‘ I am a fool,” said the minister to himself, “ a born 
fool.” 

And during the rest of the evening he was miserable. 
He told himself his illness had transformed his imagina- 
tion into a hothouse affair; he was trying to crowd 
nature; he was telling a mere stripling what should be 
told him years hence. 


Hattie 


73 


But as Bram sat pouring over his Latin grammar 
he looked very thoughtful. He had difficulty in keep- 
ing his mind on the book. He understood at least 
vaguely what the minister meant; and his mind was 
busy fitting Hattie into the plan of his life. 

It was the first time that Bram was included in the 
sleighing party, technically known at the Five Corners 
as “ the sleigh ride.” Weeks before the eventful night, 
in fact as soon as it had been definitely settled that he 
was to be one of the party, Bram busied himself with 
plans for it. To conform to Five Corners etiquette 
he was compelled to “ make a date.” Without that he 
could not be included in the outing. 

Sometimes in the middle of the night he awoke and 
shivered. Often while translating a sentence in Latin 
class he suddenly became confused, lost the construc- 
tion, and was compelled to accept a zero. The 
instructor scolded and Bram flushed with embarrass- 
ment. He had been perfectly prepared for the lesson, 
but suddenly in the middle of the sentence this necessity 
of “ making a date ” had risen up like a ghost at the 
feast. 

Of course the “ date ” was to be made with Hattie. 
He never hesitated about that. But how and when and 
where.? What was he to say.? He wondered if there 
were a certain formula for “ making a date.” A for- 
mula would simplify the problem. He could commit it 
to memory. But he knew of none. What would she 
say.? He turned pale at the thought of the inevitable 
interview. It was a nightmare that he saw inevitably 
approaching. If he avoided it he could not be one of 
the sleighing party. And if he was not one of the 


74 


Bram of the Five Corners 


party there would be various inquiries made as to rea- 
sons; and his very soul shrank from admitting he was 
afraid. For a fleeting moment he thought of develop- 
ing some illness that would prevent him from going. 
But there was a cowardice in that course that he could 
not face. There was no escape, and the inevitableness 
of it made him shudder. 

He knew how he would stammer and blush; he was 
furious with himself for not being better able to appear 
at ease. Bram had a vivid imagination, but his imag- 
ination was to him a curse as well as a blessing. 

Finally he cut the Gordian knot by writing Hattie 
a note. In that way he could at least make himself 
clear. He despised himself for the cowardice it implied ; 
but it seemed the only way. 

“ Why, of course. I’ll go with you,” giggled Hattie 
a day or two later. She had not taken the trouble to 
answer Bram’s invitation in writing. Word of mouth 
seemed much simpler to her and much more effective. 

Instead of being elated, as he might have been ex- 
pected to be, Bram received the girl’s answer with a 
feeling as though he wished the earth would swallow 
him. He and five or six other boys were leaning against 
the fence near the church; Sunday school had let out. 
Hattie saw him from a distance. Detaching herself 
from a group of girls, she tripped up to the boys. 
Without any preliminaries she giggled her answer to 
Bram’s note, “ Why, of course. I’ll go with you.” 

Hattie was admiringly greeted by the group with 
the familiarity of the country. They teasingly called 
her pet names and she shrieked with renewed laughter. 
Moreover she boldly answered them in kind. 

Bram felt sick. .He wished he had died as a baby. 


Hattie 


75 


He could not say a word. About his lips played the 
odd, self-conscious smile that always belied the misery 
in his heart. Hattie had planned that he should walk 
home with her; it was for that reason that she had 
detached herself from the group of girls. But there 
was a limit beyond which Bram could not go. 

When the night of the ‘‘ sleigh ride ” arrived he 
forgot his misery, and the delicious wonder of the berry- 
picking expedition returned. Again the boys and girls 
in the party indulged in laughter and jest and crude 
repartee. Again the chorus of voices was raised to 
affirm in song that the “ tie that binds ” is blessed, 
and to affirm with equal conviction that “ John Brown’s 
body lies a-moldering in the grave.” The bells on 
the horses provided an accompaniment in low under- 
tone, and one or two of the young swains tried to keep 
up a more harmonious accompaniment with mouth- 
organs. 

Again the gospel hymns and the more strident mar- 
tial songs finally gave way to the love song, and the 
voices of the youths and maidens became soft and ten- 
der. The air was biting. Here and there, under cover 
of the warm blankets on the laps of the merrymakers, 
hand found hand in a thinly veiled pretense at more 
effectively keeping warm. Here and there a maiden 
openly and defiantly shared her shawl with the lad^by 
her side. 

Bram said very little. He joined in the concert 
mainly as an excuse for not talking. 

“ Ain’t you cold? ” whispered Hattie. 

“ Not a bit,” he answered cheerfully. 

The girl was disappointed, but she did not give up. 
Again and again she interrupted his singing by whis- 


76 


Bram of the Five Corners 


pering the same question to him. Finally he admitted 
that the air was rather raw. But he could easily stand 
it, he added. 

Hattie however did not choose to agree with him. 
Hastily throwing one side of her shawl over his shoul- 
der, she held it there protectingly, part of the garment 
covering her own head. Her arm once more rested 
across his shoulders lightly, and she moved very close 
to him. Bram trembled, but he sat stiff and awkward. 
Under cover of the protecting shawl Hattie laid her 
cheek against his. 

He was afraid to move or to speak; but his heart 
sang the song that is always new. 


CHAPTER VII 


A TALE THAT IS TOLD ” 

B oth Anton and Oom Bartel considered it their 
duty to see to it that Bram should walk the 
straight and narrow way. Hints as to the boy’s 
behavior at the sleigh ride party reached their ears. 
The younger set at the Five Corners took a diabolical 
pleasure in making the timid young student tlie butt of 
their jests, and Hattie was not the girl to discourage 
gossip about her relations with Bram. She was as 
excited as a child with a new doll. Bram was her only 
topic of conversation, and she dragged this subject in 
on all likely and unlikely occasions. Hattie was often 
almost hysterical in her vivacity; and now that she 
looked upon herself as the girl of the hour at the^Five 
Comers she became, if possible, still more so. Many 
of the farmers’ sons were secretly in love with Hattie’s 
pretty face; but they did not understand her. 

“ But then, the whole family is queer,” was the way 
they explained it. The folk of the Five Comers were 
not attracted by mystery. And while the rude youths 
loved Hattie’s pretty face, they stood aloof. 

“ Of course, she is different from the others,” thought 
Bram, although he never ventured to express this 
opinion. He could dream of her and idealize her. 

But he smarted under the railery of his companions, 
and this smart became a terror when Anton and Oom 
Bartel decided they must discipline him — must curb 
[ 77 ] 


78 


Bram of the Five Corners 


him for the good of his soul and for the good of his 
career. While his affair of the heart was being dis- 
cussed lightly Bram could take refuge in a self-con- 
scious smile, by means of which he could hide effec- 
tively both his embarrassment and the ache in his heart. 
But now that it became the subject of family council it 
was unendurable. 

Bram was innocently humming a tune of one of the 
simple love songs that had been running in his head 
ever since the night of the sleigh ride party. 

“ Bram,” said Oom Bartel in a tone that made the 
boy start, “ don’t you know yet that humming is wrong 
— you who are to become a minister of the gospel.^ 
It shouldn’t be necessary for me to tell you these 
things.” 

Bram colored with embarrassment. He valued the 
good opinion of Oom Bartel very highly. His uncle 
still seemed to him a person of mysterious intellectual 
power. 

“ Yes, humming is wrong,” continued Oom Bartel in 
a tone of reproof that gradually changed to one of 
deep interest in what he was saying. He hugely 
enjoyed a dissertation on any point of ethics. “ God 
did not give man a voice to be used in that way. The 
voice is given us to be used in speaking or in singing. 
But humming is neither one. He who uses his voice in 
that way is making light of the unspeakable gifts of 
God! In both speaking and in singing we are to use 
the voice in His praise, and no one can ever hold that 
that is done in humming.” 

He stood considering for a moment ; Bram preserved 
an embarrassed silence. 

“ Why, that is what we can expect from outsiders"' 


Tale that Is Told^' 


79 


Oom Bartel continued. He knew that Bram under- 
stood what he meant with outsiders. “ The other night 
there was an entertainment in the English Reformed 
church. It was not enough that they had a comet — 
think of it, a cornet ! in the church — but the quartet 
must sing one of those songs most of which was hum- 
ming. Just today I have been reproving one of their 
members about it, and now to hear my own nephew 
doing the same thing ! ” 

Bram hung his head in shame. That he saw noth- 
ing ludicrous in Oom Bartel’s statement was not because 
he was lacking in sense of humor. 

“ And what is it you were humming } ” persisted 
Oom Bartel. 

Bram blushed; but it did not occur to him to pre- 
varicate. 

“ ‘ Then Come to My Arms, Nora — dar — ling ’ ! ” 
His voice broke on the tender word. 

‘‘ Bram, Bram, I’m ashamed of you,” said Bartel 
severely. “ But I have wanted to talk to you for some 
time.” 

There was a horrible, weak feeling in the pit of 
Bram’s stomach. Instinctively he knew what was com- 
ing. 

What is it I hear about you and Hattie Wanhope.? 
At first I thought it was only the silly talk of boys 
and girls ; but there has been so much of it that I have 
wanted to talk to you.” 

Bram was miserable and inarticulate. 

“ You are far too young to think of girls,” continued 
his uncle in the same rigid and severe tone. “ When 
I was your age — ”. But suddenly he became confused 
and he stammered something unintelligible. Bartel 


80 


Bram of the Five Corners 


Westerbaan had suddenly remembered why it was that 
his own college course had been brought to a disastrous 
end; but the memory of that painful period of his life 
made his conviction all the more firm that he must rule 
this boy with an iron hand, and save him from the 
snares and pitfalls of life. 

“ You are to become a minister,” he said ; “ never 
forget that. You are to bear yourself with more dig- 
nity than others. From now on this going to parties 
must stop, and you must give all your time to your 
lessons. I consider it my duty to warn you now before 
it is too late.” 

Bram still said not a word. He felt miserable and 
ashamed. 

“ Bram,” said Anton later, “ Oom Bartel has been 
tellin’ me about your goings on with the girls and such 
things. I had thought you would know better than 
that — you learnin’ for dominie ! That ain’t what I 
and Wilm and mother are slavin’ for, sending you 
through college. We expect you to be a dominie what 
we needn’t be ashamed of. And if you want to be that 
you can’t be wastin’ your time runnin’ after girls.” 

Bram made no defense. A sense of guilt over- 
whelmed him. Both Anton and Oom Bartel had made 
him feel that he had desecrated the high calling to which 
he was destined. His mother comforted him. 

“ Bram, mijn jongen, you look pale,” she said; “ you 
must not learn too hard. Won’t it seem odd,” she con- 
tinued, turning to Vrouw Poppema who was visiting 
her, “ won’t it seem odd to see our Bram preachin’ ? ” 
Already in her imagination she saw her boy grown up 
to a man’s full stature. Already she felt the glory of 
the distinction that would be hers by reason of being 


Tale that Is ToW 


81 


the mother of the minister. There was pride in her 
voice, and there was something very much like awe in 
the voice of Vrouw Poppema as she made the obvious 
answer. 

“ Anton has been after me to reprove you,” said 
Dominie Wijnberg that evening when the two were alone 
in the study. ‘‘ I did not promise him ; I know of course 
that Anton does not understand.” 

Bram was more than grateful to the minister. He 
could hardly have borne any more on this subject. 

“ I believe I spoke to you once before on how I 
regard such things, Bram. You are only a boy, I 
know, and it will be several years before this will become 
a personal problem to you. But when the problem does 
arise I shall not be here. Even if I were here I might 
be powerless ; but I am going to say to you now what 
I would say then. I’m not going to reprove you as 
Anton suggested ; I’m going to do better. I’m going to 
preach to you ; and I’m going to take my text from the 
Bible. That’s the orthodox way.” 

The minister smiled and Bram readily entered into 
his mood. There was complete understanding between 
these two. Dominie Wijnberg yearned to make Bram 
understand something of what he himself felt; and it 
was this intense desire to be understood, more than the 
words themselves, that impressed the boy. It was this 
that came back to him years afterwards when his need 
was great to understand aright. 

“ The body is a temple, Bram, and that is my text. 
You might think that / would despise the body. Mine 
has gone back on me; it is an all but useless machine; 
but I don’t despise it even now, and I would give worlds 
for a body that is well and strong. Here am I — the 


82 


Bram of the Five Corners 


real I — debarred from doing the work that I am fitted 
to do perhaps better than any living man, and simply 
because this body, that in my strength I have often 
despised, refuses to do its share. 

“ But I’m straying from my text, Bram, mijn jon- 
gen. You’ll call me unorthodox.” 

He laughed lightly as though to relieve the intense 
earnestness of the tone of the “ sermon.” 

“ The body is a temple ; that is all any man or 
woman need remember. If they did, the greatest social 
problem of all time would be solved. But it is almost 
universally forgotten, and hundreds of thousands of 
bodies can never be the beautiful temples they are meant 
to be. They are doomed generations before they are 
bom. There is many an unbalanced mind or broken 
body today because some one sinned a hundred years 
ago.” 

To bring his thought more graphically home to the 
boy Dominie Wijnberg told of a number of well known 
instances in which the inexorable laws of heredity are 
known to have worked out. He took from his book- 
case American Charities, and read to Bram the story of 
the “ Jukes Family,” with its record of criminality and 
its record of insanity — all because many generations 
ago some one forgot that the body is a temple and that 
he was bound to “ keep it holy.” 

His experience at EUis island had given the minister 
unusual opportunities to study this question. The great 
constructive work that he had undertaken there had 
constantly been hampered by the fact that effort had 
to be spent on the unfit who would be forever only so 
much useless lumber to society. And passionately 
though he had been devoted to his chosen work, he had 


Tale that Is ToW 


83 


come to recognize that the problem of the proper assim- 
ilation of the immigrant dwindles into insignificance in 
comparison with the problem of the development of a 
healthier and happier race. 

They talked a long time. Bram gave evidence that 
he caught a certain part of what the minister was try- 
ing to say. Occasionally he startled Dominie Wijnberg 
with an observation that showed he had given at least 
some thought to the superficial aspects of the subject. 

The summers and winters came and went and Bram 
was seventeen. Dominie Wijnberg had been to New 
York twice, and each time the great Dr. Jessup had 
spent hours with him and had carefully noted down 
numerous technical terms about the progress of this 
interesting case; but each time the minister was told 
that rest remained the only medicine that could at all 
avail him. Dominie Wijnberg knew now that even this 
medicine would not long avail. 

Bram had grown in stature, and his joy in life was 
deepening. But he and the minister had, if possible, 
become closer companions. Through Bram, Dominie 
Wijnberg renewed his youth. As the powers of phys- 
ical life slowly waned, the minister was enabled to see 
again through the eyes of the boy the world as he had 
once seen it in his own sanguine youth. As he looked 
back over the four years that had elapsed since he had 
left Ellis island he had a singular feeling that the years 
had been happy ones. His leaving his work in New 
York had not proved the end of all things. He had 
fought a continually losing struggle against a mysteri- 
ous disease, but the work in the congregation at the 
Five Comers deeply interested him, though he stdl felt 


84 


Bram of the Five Corners 


at times the passionate devotion he had given to the 
Ellis island work. But he had never gotten into close 
touch with the majority of the people of the commu- 
nity, and they had never understood him. Judged by 
all outward standards, the four years ought to have 
been a period of wretchedness for the minister; on 
the contrary, he had been happy — happier, it seemed 
to him, than he had been in the Ellis island work. 

And it was Bram Meesterling who had brought back 
tJie light and the sunshine into the life of the dying 
man. All unconscious of the service he was rendering, 
the boy continued to look up to the minister with the 
eyes of a worshiper. As he grew older this hero-wor- 
ship gradually developed into a solid friendship. The 
growing man in the boy responded to the essential man- 
hood of the minister. The minister’s ideals became his 
ideals, and the minister’s prejudices became his preju- 
dices. While the minister got back something of the 
thrill of youth by looking at life through the boy’s 
eyes, Bram looked out upon the world of grownups and 
their little affairs through the eyes of a man who has 
definitely decided that for him, a dying man, it would 
be ridiculous to indulge in petty ambitions. The min- 
ister had always felt the wide sweep of human actions 
and ambitions even before his illness; and now he felt 
more than ever the futility of putting one’s soul into 
the little things. There was developed, as a result, in 
Bram’s heart a consuming desire to devote his life to 
something big enough to satisfy his friend. He thought 
vaguely of the ministry, to which he was destined, as 
fulfilling the requirements. Buoyant and happy, he 
had learned to love life mainly for the sake of its pos- 
sibilities. 


"A Tale that Is Told'’ 


85 


And now his first great sorrow was upon him. Boy- 
like he had not noticed the gradual progress of the 
minister’s illness, nor had the people of the congrega- 
tion been poignantly conscious of it. Even Dominie 
Wijnberg himself, because of his interest in Bram and 
his work, had but seldom thought of it. But finally the 
shadows began to close in on him so closely that he 
could no longer ignore them. 

“ Bram,” he said, “ will you read something.^ ” As 
the minister’s disease had gained upon him and his voice 
had grown weaker the boy had gradually assumed the 
office of reader. He now picked up the Paradise Lost 
that had first attracted him to the minister’s study four 
years before. 

Dominie Wijnberg listened for a time as the boy lost 
himself in the noble lines. 

“ Do you remember the time I told you the story 
of Milton’s life ? ” he asked presently. 

“ Yes,” answered Bram flushing. He had told the 
minister he wanted to be a poet. Secretly he still enter- 
tained that ambition, and he still occasionally tried to 
write; but he no longer attempted epics. 

“ I wonder how the great poet felt the last day of 
his life.? ” mused the minister. 

Bram looked up in surprise. 

“ I mean,” explained the minister, “ did he look upon 
his life as a failure, such as it appeared to the world, 
or was there a sustaining consciousness that in spite of 
his defeat and in spite of his blindness he was the real 
victor that the world now sees he was ? ” 

Bram looked at the minister closely. There was 
something in the latter’s voice and bearing that the boy 
did not understand. Dominie Wijnberg was lying on 


86 


Bram of the Five Corners 


a couch. Twinges of pain occasionally made him wince. 
His voice was extremely low, and sometimes it was dif- 
ficult for the boy to understand him. 

“ I have been in a retrospective mood all day ; that is 
what made me think of this. I have been reviewing my 
life, especially that part of it that was spent at Ellis 
island. It made me wonder how a really great man 
feels when he comes to the end. Is there a feeling of 
satisfaction as after work well done, or do the defeats 
loom up so large that the greater victories are lost 
sight of.? ” 

“ Oh, he must have felt satisfied with life at the end,” 
exclaimed Bram, his eyes bright. 

“ His biographers lead us to believe the contrary,” 
answered the minister. “ But what do the biographers 
know about it, after all.? If I had been important 
enough to have my biography written after I am gone, 
the chances are that it would be written by one of the 
men who were associated with me in New York, and 
doubtless he would come to the conclusion that I had 
died a disappointed man. But he could not be farther 
from the truth, Bram.” 

“ ni write your biography some day,” exclaimed 
Bram, and he meant it, “ and I’ll tell the truth.” 

Dominie Wijnberg smiled. 

“ And, Bram, I would have died a disappointed man,” 
he said, “ if it had not been for you. When I left Ellis 
island it seemed to me that the end of all things had 
come. And then I found you. You are old enough 
now, Bram, to understand. But I suppose at the time 
you did not realize that you were a real comfort to me. 
You gave me an interest in life and made me forget that 
my life was empty.” 


Tale that Is Told'' 


87 


Bram looked up in wonder. The words of the min- 
ister were to him a revelation the force of which would 
stay with him through all the years to come. He, Bram 
Meesterling, little uncouth country boy, a comfort to a 
man like Dominie Wijnberg! 

“ I shall never forget,” continued the minister, “ how 
eagerly you pounced upon that very volume of Paradise 
Lost you have in your hands now. You were so eager, 
Bram, and yet so diffident. Before I knew it I was for- 
getting about my disappointment at not being able to 
continue my former work.” 

Bram said nothing. Often he was inarticulate when 
thoughts were crowding upon him. But there was sym- 
pathy and understanding in his eyes. 

“ In looking back over my life today I was thinking 
how little I have accomplished after all. You said you 
would write my biography, but I fear you could not 
fill more than half a dozen pages. But I feel strangely 
content, and suppose it is because I found a new inter- 
est in life after I had definitely decided that all was 
ended. That now seems to me like an unlooked for 
gift.” 

Bram was thinking of what the world would have 
been to him if the minister had not come to the Five 
Corners. But he said nothing; somehow he could not 
put what he felt into words. 

“ WiU you read the ninetieth psalm to me?” asked 
the minister presently. 

Bram laid aside the Paradise Lost and opened the 
little Bible that lay on the table, and as he read the 
“ prayer of Moses, the Man of God,” he understood why 
the conversation had naturally suggested the psalm. 
Here was another who had spent all his life doing good. 


88 


Bram of the Five Corners 


who had given up the life of the court, where he might 
have become a mighty ruler — given it up voluntarily 
to become an exile and a wanderer. He had given him- 
self as a sacrifice to his people. There had been some- 
thing in him that had impelled him to choose the rugged 
road ; and yet at the end was disappointment. His life 
had been as grass — “ In the morning it flourisheth, 
and groweth up ; in the evening it is cut down, and with- 
ereth. . . . For all our days are passed away in 

thy wrath: we spend our years as a tale that is told. 
The days of our years are threescore years and ten ; and 
if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet 
is their strength labor and sorrow; for it is soon cut 
off and we fly away.” 

“ And yet,” said the minister, after the boy had 
closed the book, “ who knows how his life ended When 
he climbed Mount Nebo for the last time and viewed 
the promised land from afar, is it not likely that, min- 
gled with his sorrows and his longings, there was a 
feeling of deep joy that he had chosen the path he did.?^ 
To me there is something wonderfully touching in the 
picture of this seer dying alone on the mountain top. 
He has become an epic figure in history ; but to himself, 
when he wrote the psalm, he appeared merely an atom.” 

The talk drifted to other matters. After a while the 
minister showed signs of weariness and Bram arose 
to go. 

“ Bram, my life is almost over,” said the dying man 
quite cheerfully, holding the boy’s hand ; “ but will it 
be only a tale that is told.^ I am not thinking now, 
Bram, of immortality for myself ; important though 
that seems to a dying man, it seems small compared 
with that immortality possible for all men. Have I 


Tale that Is Told^' 


89 


helped a little in the climb upward, and is some one 
going to climb and help others climb because I lived 
mj life? I feel somehow, Bram, that if after I am gone 
I shall be conscious of what is going on here, I would 
like best to know that you are doing what I would have 
liked to do. I am not asking you, Bram ; no, no, each 
of us must lead his own life.” 

The sentence ended in a whisper and Bram turned to 
go. He could not say a word. His eyes were wet when 
he reached his own room. 

The next Friday evening when he returned from De 
Stad the minister was too weak to talk.. But he held 
out his hand in glad welcome. During the next week 
the boy was called home from school. 

He stood for a long time dry-eyed. To many of the 
people of the congregation of the Five Comers it was 
not a specially mournful death. They had never under- 
stood Dominie Wijnberg, but to Bram it seemed that 
the end of all things had come. 

It was very natural that the minister who preached 
the funeral sermon should choose for his text the pas- 
sage that Bram and Dominie Wijnberg had discussed 
a few weeks before. This text was often used at the 
funeral of one cut off in youth ; and besides, the speaker 
was compelled to judge by outward appearances. To 
him it had seemed indeed that the tale of the years of 
the minister’s life had been told. 

When the great Dr. Jessup in New York heard of 
the death of his “ interesting case,” he carefully checked 
up his notes covering a period of years. Then he made 
a learned report to the National Medical Society. The 
death of Dominie Wijnberg had proved the scientist’s 
hypothesis. The patient was worth more to him dead 


90 


Bram of the Five Corners 


than alive, and to him it was a satisfactory solution of 
an hypothesis. It was a closed incident. He stated in 
scientific terms that the tale of the years of this man’s 
body had been told. 


CHAPTER VIII 


GHOSTS 

T he barn of Chris Wanhope was the scandal of 
the Five Corners. There was not another barn 
like it within a radius of five miles ; that is to say, there 
was not another bam like it as far as the horizon of 
the people of the community extended. No farmer of 
the Five Corners could ever repress a feeling of resent- 
ment when he passed the Wanhope farm and saw the 
old patchwork of rough boards and shingles that housed 
the cattle and in which the hay and grain were stored. 

“ Why, it ain’t no bam,” Berend Poppema would 
say to Anton Meesterling ; ‘‘ it’s nothin’ more than a 
shed, and a mighty poor shed at that.” 

“ His cows look it,” Anton would answer ; “ their 
hair’s grown twice as long as that of other cows. 
They’re like bears in the far North what grow hair in 
winter to protect them against the cold. Them cows 
of Chris have got to keep warm somehow, and that’s 
the only way — what with cracks in the barn a foot 
wide.” 

“ Have you been inside ? ” 

“ Once.” Chris Wanhope was not one of the people 
of the Five Corners although he lived among them. 
They did not visit him in his barn, as they visited fre- 
quently in the barns of other neighbors. 

“ Looks mol, don’t it? ” 

“ Mol! that ain’t the word for it. ’T ain’t fit for a 
[ 91 ] 


92 


Bram of the Five Corners 


hog to live in, let alone horses and cows. Do you know, 
he has his cows, hogs, horses, and chickens all livin’ 
in the same stable. The hogs run about among the 
horses and cows, and the chickens often roost on the 
backs of the animals. And then if he only kept it clean 
there would be somethin’ to say for him. But you can 
imagine what a mess all them animals together make; 
and he don’t clean the stable once a week. He lets it 
collect so long till the cows stand with their backs 
almost touchin’ the ceiling.” 

“ I’d say you was lyin’ there,” remarked Berend 
Poppema laughing, “ if it wasn’t that the ceilin’ is 
mighty low.” 

Berend and Anton had just finished putting a con- 
crete foundation under the latter’s bam, and this 
improvement had brought up the subject of the barn 
of Chris Wanhope. Some months before a similar 
foundation had been built under the barn of Berend 
Poppema. The men were very proud of these improve- 
ments. They took deep pride in their respective barns, 
as did most of the farmers of the Five Corners, among 
whom there was considerable rivalry. When Wilm 
Arsma one year started an innovation by erecting a 
silo, his neighbors went still further the next year and 
built still larger silos. Then Berend Poppema thought 
of building a concrete foundation under his bam, the 
first in the community, and already Anton Meesterling 
was following his example. Soon others would fall into 
line. Cement fioors in the back of the cow stables was 
an innovation of a still later Five Corners epoch. 

But no matter what improvements Chris’s neighbors 
made, the barn of Chris Wanhope remained a “ shed.” 
When all the others erected silos Chris continued to 


Ghosts 


93 


store his corn stalks in the primitive way, and all the 
other improvements that followed left him where he had 
always been. It was absolutely unthinkable that he 
should ever make any repairs that the wind and the 
rain and the frost did not compel him to make; and 
even then they were made only after some mischief had 
been done to the stock. 

That the house in which the Wanhopes lived was 
little better than the barn meant nothing to the male 
portion of the Five Comers population. This house 
had at one time been painted, but that was so long ago 
that the color could only be guessed at. The house pos- 
sessed the one virtue of comparative cleanliness. Vrouw 
Wanhope did her best to keep it at least presentable, 
although her strength was hardly equal to Chris’s 
capacity for causing dirt to collect wherever he hap- 
pened to be. Chris was in the habit of sitting a con- 
siderable distance away from the cook stove. To deposit 
a generous mouthful of tobacco juice in the ashes 
through the open front slide from that coign of disad- 
vantage had become a game of chance with Chris. 
Sometimes he was successful, but more often he either 
undershot or overshot the mark. In winter time his 
“ felt boots ” were the greater part of the time hang- 
ing suspended by a wire over the stove, even while the 
meals were being prepared. In winter time, moreover, 
Chris never took a bath, and he insisted on spending 
practically all of his time in the house. So that, all 
things being considered, it was not strange that the 
years had taken the “ tuck ” out of Vrouw Wanhope, 
as they say at the Five Corners. 

She had begun life with Chris Wanhope determined 
to make something of him and to raise him to her 


94 


Bram of the Five Corners 


standards of living, but gradually the realization had 
come that that would be a hopeless undertaking. He 
was not a tyrant and he did not domineer over her. It 
was not that. He was always good-natured, and seldom 
or never did he oppose his will to hers. Nor was he 
obstinate; he did not insist on his own way. He was 
rather like a child who is incapable of learning. The 
good opinion of his neighbors never meant anything to 
him. He did not realize that he was not living up to 
the social standards of the community. He simply 
chose the easiest way in all things; and he believed 
most earnestly in the maxim, “ sufficient for the day is 
the evil thereof ” — and he classed among evils all 
work and all provision for the morrow. It was well 
known to the people of the Five Comers, and it was 
often told by them to visitors, that Chris never had 
been known to split his kindling wood in the evening; 
he invariably waited until he needed it in the morning. 
Then he shuffled through the snow, found a board or 
a “ chunk,” frequently ripping the board off a fence, 
if no other fuel was at hand, and split the kindling for 
the morning’s fire. When he reasoned about it at all 
his logic was to the effect that the fence would not be 
needed again until the following summer and that it 
was no use worrying so long ahead. The fire, however, 
was needed at that moment. 

Vrouw Wanhope had done her best for many years, 
so it could not be laid up against her entirely that her 
home was only comparatively clean, that it was not as 
spotless as the homes of the other housewives at the 
Five Comers. WFile Hattie had been a little girl 
Vrouw Wanhope had often secretly hoped that she 
would some day find in her daughter an aUy against 


Ghosts 


95 


her husband. It had seemed to her that with a grown 
up daughter to help her she might succeed in raising 
the family to something like an equality with the other 
families. But Hattie took but a very slight interest in 
the house. There was only one way in which the girl 
showed any energy — in beautifying herself. When 
still a very little girl she had taken an inordinate pride 
in her occasional new dress — very much as other little 
girls do. But when she grew up she did not show the 
capability that the average girl shows in her various 
feminine ways. Hattie became a burden to her over- 
worked and discouraged mother rather than a help. 
She was the only one of the family who ever appeared 
in Five Comers society, and her mother made every 
effort to have her always looking at her best. That 
this meant hard work Hattie never appreciated. 

The girl was undeniably pretty. There was not a 
youth at the Five Corners who had not indulged in 
dreams about her. When she spoke to one of them, 
as she was not at all loath to do, his heart leaped and 
he revelled in the bright, wonderful imaginings of boy- 
hood. To the boys of the Five Comers the Wanhope 
family did not seem entirely “ impossible ; ” to them 
Hattie was the Wanhope family. But the men and 
women of the community did not allow their judgments 
to be warped by a pretty face. To them the Wanhope 
family seemed an alien element. 

Nor did the prettiness of Hattie warp the judgment 
of the very small boys of the Five Corners. “ Crazy 
Chris ” was the name they had invented for the head 
of the house, and unconsciously their elders adopted 
the term. 

“Well, that’s really what he is,” would be their 


96 


Bram of the Five Corners 


defense; “you can’t make me believe that he is just 
right. He ain’t really crazy — what you would call 
crazy as such — but he’s queer, you can’t get away 
from that. He ain’t like me an’ you.” 

“ Aw, go on,” another might retort, “ it’s plump 
laziness, that’s all it is ; he ain’t no more crazy than 
what I am.” 

It was a disputed point that remained forever unset- 
tled at the Five Corners. The theory that it was mere 
laziness seemed to be supported by the fact that the 
Wanhope family had always been a rolling stone, so 
to speak. To the folk of the Five Corners the sta- 
tionary and the normal were the same. The people 
were constitutionally opposed to change, and a family 
that moved about a good deal was by that very fact 
branded. No one knew whence the Wanhope family 
originally came. Vrouw Poppema had traced it a 
decade back. 

“ When they came here,” she would say in telling the 
results of her investigations, which she did rather fre- 
quently, “ they had been livin’ for a couple of years in 
Noordeloos, on a little farm what didn’t keep soul and 
body together. They left there because they couldn’t 
keep up the rent. Before that they lived on the other 
side of De Stad where they had only one cow what died 
because it didn’t get enough to eat. And before that 
they lived on the Lake Shore, where the land is as poor 
as they themselves. Before that I ain’t been able to 
find out where they lived. Hattie don’t remember no 
farther back.” 

“ They say there’s somethin’ in names,” said Berend 
Poppema (he had never heard what a man named 
Shakespeare had said on the subject of names), “but 


Ghosts 


97 


it’s mighty queer that Chris should bear the name of 
Wanhope. It fits him about as good as a round plug 
in a square hole.” 

Wanhoopy from which the name is derived, is the 
Dutch word for despair, and the fact is that Chris was 
far from being the synonym for despair. The “ hope 
that springs eternal ” characterized him more than 
anything else. 

“ Next year I’m goin’ to try sugar beets,” he would 
say hopefully ; “ there’s money in them. The people 
around here don’t know how much money there is in 
beets. But next year I’m goin’ to show ’em. Before 
you know it they all will be raisin’ ’em around here.” 

‘‘ Next year ” or “ next week ” or “ next month ” 
were words frequently on the tongue of Chris Wan- 
hope. But when next year came Chris would delay the 
sowing of the beets so long, putting it off from day to 
day on one pretext or another, that finally he woke up 
to the fact that the time had passed. 

“ Well, it’s kind o’ cold this spring,” he would tell 
himself, ‘‘ I’ll try it next year. Because there’s a lot 
of money in beets. I’ll get busy early next year.” 

Or he would decide on a crop of artichokes for “ next 
year.” Always Chris saw wonderful prospects in some- 
thing that the other folk of the Five Corners did not 
raise — another reason why they thought him “ queer.” 

‘‘ Where might he have got such an outlandish 
name.? ” Berend Poppema had asked of Dominie Wijn- 
berg several years before, when the minister had been 
at the Five Corners only a short time. 

“ It’s hard telling,” the latter had replied. “ Names 
these days do not mean anything. But at one time 
they did have a meaning. Think of ‘ Van den Berg,’ 


98 


Bram of the Five Corners 


^ Van den Bosch,’ ‘ Van der Sluis,’ ‘ Bontekoe,’ and so 
on. I suppose that at one time ‘ Wanhope ’ also had 
a significance to the neighbors and friends of the man 
who many generations ago was an ancestor of Chris.” 

He had been on the point of going into the subject 
of heredity, but he had remembered in time that a dis- 
cussion of this kind would have had no meaning for 
Berend Poppema. But he had thought : “ Not unlikely 
the name ‘ Wanhope ’ at one time had a grimly terrible 
meaning. There is undeniably a taint of feeble-minded- 
ness in Chris, although the people here call it mere 
laziness. It is not impossible that many generations 
ago the family’s constant tendency to propagate feeble- 
mindedness and insanity caused the neighbors and 
friends to see in it an evil fate from which there was 
no escape, and they tagged the family with the word 
‘ despair.’ Why not.? A taint has been traced for 
many, many generations. The family tree of Chris 
Wanhope’s ancestors is lost, but is it not possible that 
some such story would be found if the records of the 
family could be unearthed.? ” 

“ Hat Wanhope is the daughter of her father,” said 
the older people of the Five Comers. “ Hum ! she is 
pretty and all that, but she’s lazy just like the old 
man.” 

But this was always said in the face of the earnest 
protest of the younger generation, or rather in spite of 
it. The protest was not as outspoken as the word 
“ earnest ” implies. The boys and young men of the 
Five Comers were not in the habit of making young 
women the subject of conversation with their elders; 
but whenever Hattie was called shiftless and lazy they 
felt a quiet contempt for the speaker that penetrated 


Ghosts 


99 


even to the minds of the farmers of the Five Corners. 
Among themselves the young men discussed Hattie 
shyly, or sometimes with rude banter, but all the time 
each one knew that each of the others had often at 
night lain staring into the darkness, thinking of the 
girl in her ramshackle home. Each one knew that to 
each of the others that ramshackle home seemed a fairy 
palace. Not infrequently Hattie familiarly addressed 
a crowd of boys when meeting them on the highway; 
and then, feeling unusual confidence in one another’s 
support, they answered her in kind. But when one of 
them met her alone he spoke in monosyllables ; he felt a 
strange quaking fear that robbed him of speech. 

And Bram.^ He seldom spoke to Hattie Wanhope. 
Whenever he was with others whom Hattie familiarly 
called by name, he allowed the others to do the talking, 
himself standing back in embarrassed silence. When he 
met her alone and she stopped to talk, as she invariably 
did, she did most of the talking. At such times he was 
always possessed by a fierce desire to get away. And 
after he had succeeded he cursed himself for a fool and 
a weakling. 

But if he was unable to make the pretty daughter 
of “ Crazy Chris ” understand what she meant to him, 
it was possible for him to build up dreams about her. 
There was always the afternoon in the woods when she 
had pressed her berry-stained fingers against his lips; 
there was that other moment that same afternoon when 
she had laid her arm across his shoulder; there was 
the delicious time that same evening when she had 
drawn his head down on her lap and had caressed his 
face with the tips of her fingers ; and finally there was 
that other evening on the slejgh when she had drawn 


100 


Bram of the Five Corners 


her shawl about him and had taken him into delicious 
intimacy. When the other youths of the Five Comers 
exchanged confidences about Hattie, Bram pitied them. 
They merely dreamed about her; he had felt her so 
close to him that he still trembled with excitement every 
time he thought of it. He never talked about those 
moments of intimacy. There was a sacredness about 
them that he could not desecrate. His eyes merely 
beamed with the glory of them, and his heart sang. 

“ Some day I’ll become famous,” he whispered to him- 
self. “ Then I’ll come back here to the Five Corners, 
and all the people — Berend Poppema, Anton, mother, 
and even Oom Bartel in De Stad — will be here to 
shake hands and congratulate me. And then she will 
step up and she will look shy and — adorable and 
sweet. And she will wonder if I’ll remember her; and 
• at first I’ll pretend that I don’t. And then finally — ” 

That was as far as he ever got in words. The rest 
of the scene was too delicious for utterance. He would 
be masterful. He would be the conquering hero. He 
would come in the strength of the fame that he had 
wrested from the world. He would dominate all about 
him. He would make her feel what a wonderful man 
he was. He would make her see that he was not really 
the shy, shivering youngster whom she had known way 
back when he was a boy at the Five Corners. She 
would stand in awe of him and she would worship him 
from afar. And then he would go to her and clasp her, 
and show her how great-hearted he really was. And 
still later he would tell her of his youthful dreams about 
her and his hopes. He would make her feel that the 
thought of her had been inspiration to him and had led 
him on to his high position^ in the sight of men. And 


Ghosts 


101 


she — she would be modest and shy. Her sweet, thin 
face would be aglow, and she would look up at him 
and wonder. He would be eloquent, and it would be 
hard for her to find words to answer him. But she 
would understand and she would adore with the others. 

Conceited? Undoubtedly. Look out for the shy, 
unassuming boy. In his own mind he is a future con- 
queror; he will compel the plaudits of the world. He 
will bring the world to his feet. 

Bram sat thinking of all this in church. Three pews 
ahead of him he could see a braid of Hattie’s hair. 
The vision of the future passed through his mind. He 
still wished to be a poet. And Hattie would be his 
inspiration. And then, when the world had been com- 
pelled to pay its homage, he would return and claim 
her. 

Hattie looked back and smiled at him. He looked 
down in embarrassment and blushed. And during the 
rest of the services he was miserable. 

Hattie saw the blush, and for some unaccountable 
reason she saw humor in it. She giggled with sup- 
pressed merriment. Vrouw Foppema, who usually saw 
most of what was going on in church (or for that mat- 
ter anywhere else where she happened to be), nudged 
Vrouw Buurman sitting near her. 

She whispered the one word, “ Schandalig! ” 

But when church had let out she expressed her opin- 
ion more forcibly. 

“ I must tell Berend how that girl carried on. He 
is always say in’ Hat Wanhope ain’t so bad, and that 
she will get wiser as she grows older. But if she ain’t 
got wise yet when will it be? There she’s twenty years 
old and full grown. What more does he want? ” 


102 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ Ja, it’s sad,” was Vrouw Buurman’s answer. “ Hat 
acts like she is a girl of twelve or thirteen. My little 
eleven year-old Sarah knows better how to behave than 
her. I was sayin’ the other day, ‘ Will she never 
grow up? ’ ” 

“ Grow up? You want her any bigger than what she 
already is ? ” 

“ No, no, you know what I mean. It ain’t that she 
ain’t tall enough, but she’s so kinder aclitig ! Do you 
know what I heard? I heard she giggled when she 
joined church!” 

“ Heden, heden! ” exclaimed Vrouw Poppema, aston- 
ishment writ large on her face. 

“ Ja, one of the boys what also joined at the same 
time said something a little mal^ and Hat giggled like 
she was only at home ! ” 

“ Always the boys,” said Vrouw Poppema severely, 
“ that’s all the young girls seem to be thinkin’ of these 
days; and Hat Wanhope especially.” 

Had she but known it, Vrouw Poppema might have 
found further food for reflections on the frivolity of 
girls in general and Hattie Wanhope in particular in 
the fact that that very evening Hattie called on Vrouw 
Meesterling. She somehow made the visit seem plausi- 
ble, though it was unusual. And when it was becoming 
quite dark she was very successful in feigning surprise. 

“ Gracious ! I had no idea it was so late,” she 
exclaimed. 

But Vrouw Meesterling did not give her any help. 
Though Hattie’s home was three-quarters of a mile 
away, it was not unusual for Five Corners girls to walk 
that distance after dark, unattended. Vrouw Meester- 
ling was rather surprised that Hattie lingered. 


Ghosts 


103 


“ I wish I’d went home earlier,” the girl said finally ; 
“ it’s awful dark tonight.” 

“ You don’t mean to say you’re scart.^ ” asked Vrouw 
Meesterling. And when Hattie nodded dolefully the 
older woman thought, ‘‘ Vrouw Poppema is right ; she’s 
like a little girl in some ways.” 

Vrouw Meesterling looked at Anton. 

“ Maybe you could bring her a little ways,” she 
remarked. 

But the head of the house was straightway in a 
panic. He had a vision of himself walking by the side 
of pretty Hattie Wanhope and meeting some one of the 
folk of the Five Corners ; the gossip that would follow ; 
the remarks he would have to listen to. He shivered 
and turned cold. 

“ I got to tend to Molly,” he hastily excused him- 
self, “ she ain’t been very lively lately.” And he pre- 
cipitantly rushed to the barn and to the stable of his 
favorite horse. 

Vrouw Meesterling looked around for Wilm. Finally 
she discovered him fast asleep on an old couch in the 
summer kitchen. She had an impulse to awaken him, 
but past experience had shown that to awaken Wilm 
was an arduous task; to make him understand what 
was wanted in this case seemed hopeless. 

“ Maybe Bram ain’t too busy,” suggested Hattie ; 
and in spite of herself she giggled softly. Bram was 
in another room where all evening he had pretended to 
be reading. But all the while he had been conscious of 
the presence of Hattie Wanhope in the house, and it 
had taken him more than an hour to read half a page. 

Bram laid down his book when Vrouw Meesterling 
explained the situation to him, and he quietly assumed 


104 


Bram of the Five Corners 


the role of protector. But his heart pounded and the 
blood raced furiously through his veins. 

She walked very close to him on the narrow path 
along the edge of the highway; and once more she felt 
with intense satisfaction that he trembled at the touch 
of her. And the satisfaction was all the greater now 
because he was no longer a small boy ; he was seventeen. 

“ It ain’t near so dark as it looked,” remarked Hattie. 

Bram said, “ No, it isn’t.” 

Then he fell quiet again. But Hattie raced on, glibly 
recounting numerous meaningless events that had re- 
cently interrupted the even tenor of her rather colorless 
existence. 

“ It’s so hot in the house,” she said when they had 
arrived at her home, ‘‘ let’s sit here a minute on the 
back porch.” 

Bram acquiesced without a word. He was clay in 
the hands of this woman three years older than he, 
this woman with her pretty face and her lively, care- 
free talk and laughter. She sat very close to him and 
rested her head against his shoulder, as she had done 
years ago on the berry-picking expedition. She played 
with the loose ends of his flowing tie. Bram trembled 
but sat very still; by an occasional remark, in a tone 
that did not at all betray the tumult within him, he 
made her feel that he was far from being the cavalier 
she wanted him to be. 

Suddenly she slipped her arm about his shoulder and 
pressed him to her. In the darkness her lips found 
those of the trembling boy. Convulsively, almost 
instinctively, his arms went about her; and he returned 
her kiss with a passion that surprised her and that filled 
her with an intoxication of delight. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE ENGAGEMENT 

T he next morning Bram was up early. But Vrouw 
Meesterling was up earlier, and she was in the 
kitchen building a fire in the “ cook stove ” when the 
boy descended the stair. 

“Why didn’t you sleep a while longer, Bram?” 
asked his mother solicitously. “ I could call you in 
plenty of time for college.” 

“ I have to go over my Latin before I go, mother.” 
“ Learnin’ is terrible hard in Christian College, mijn 
jongen, ain’t it? I am always afraid you will study too 
hard and lose your health.” 

“ Don’t worry about that, mother ; I can stand it. 
All the others do, and I’ve got to keep up with the class. 
Besides, I’m going to take some extra work next term.” 

Bram was glad of the subject of his studies. As he 
had descended the stairway he had feared his mother 
would refer to last night. For that reason he encour- 
aged her to talk about his school work. Vrouw Meester- 
ling sighed. 

“ Just like your father, Bram. He was always for 
gettin’ ahead in the world. Always wanted to go a 
little further than other people ^nd do a little more 
than they. You look like him more, too, than Anton 
and Wilm — I’ve said so ever since you was a little boy. 
And he didn’t say much neither, mijn jongen. He was 
quiet, but he did a great deal of thinking.” 

[ 105 ] 


106 


Bram of the Five Corners 


Vrouw Meesterling stood for a few moments absent- 
mindedly holding on to the handle of the tea kettle, 
while there again dawned in her eyes the wonder they 
once had held when the thought of her son as a minister 
had first come to her. She looked back down the years, 
and again she saw the silent strong man who had been 
her lover and protector and upon whom she had leaned. 
Inarticulate always, few save she herself had known 
the depths of feeling there had been in him. And here 
was her boy, Bram, in a very special way his deathless 
gift to her, built in his image, inarticulate as he, with 
unsuspected depths of feeling like his, carrying forward 
his ambitions and his zest for something better. All at 
once her boy seemed a wonderful being, in the presence 
of whom she might well tremble. There was a voice of 
thanksgiving in her heart for what her husband had 
been — the strength of him in body that now lived again 
in her boy, the sanity of mind, the zest of spirit to push 
forward. 

She thought of all this elementally ; felt it rather than 
thought it; could not have expressed a tithe of what 
she felt ; merely showed by the wonder in her eyes that 
her soul was eagerly functioning, was passing through 
one of its high moments. 

She laid her unlovely, work-stained hand on Bram’s 
head; in this way she caressed her dead lover. Bram 
felt the electric thrill of the touch. He looked up and 
blushed. What could be in his mother’s mind ; and was 
this show of tenderness in any way connected with last 
night.? As though in answer to his thought she said: 

“ You stayed away quite late last night. Did Chris 
make you come in ? ” 

The tone was matter-of-fact, and no one without the 


The Engagement 


lOT 


almost abnormal sensitiveness of Bram would have read 
in it a hint of anything else than was expressed. But 
Bram spoke up truthfully, though the words burned 
him: 

“ No, it was so hot we sat on the porch a little while.” 

And then he cut off further conversation by splashing 
cold water from the tin wash basin on to his face with 
his hands. His cheeks were burning. Vrouw Meester- 
ling calmly poured hot water into the coffee pot. She 
was all unconscious of Bram’s perturbation. But he 
read in every word and gesture a meaning that did not 
appear on the surface. 

“ I kissed her, I kissed her, I kissed her,” was the 
burden that went echoing through his brain; he half 
believed that everyone could hear it and read it on his 
face. He had held a woman in his arms ; he, Bram 
Meesterling, the timid, who had always flushed with 
embarrassment whenever a woman but spoke to him, 
who had despised himself innumerable times because of 
his cowardice, who had dreamed the wild, beautiful 
dreams of love that had brought him nearly to despair 
when he had faced a real flesh-and-blood woman — he 
had held a woman in his arms and had passionately 
kissed her. It seemed to him nothing quite so wonderful 
had ever happened before. He had felt her respond 
to his kisses (for the moment forgetting that she had 
taken the initiative). He trembled. It was all so 
terribly impossible — this which last night for a few 
moments had seemed so natural! 

Bram did not “ go over his Latin,” although he spent 
an hour with Virgil on his lap. What was Virgil, after 
all, but a poor ancient fool who had lived thousands 
of years ago before romance had been bom into the 


108 


Bram of the Five Corners 


world? The boy ate his breakfast in feverish haste 
and was gone. 

That morning in Latin class he bungled, and Prof. 
Masson looked up in surprise. At any other time that 
look would have made Bram hot with embarrassment 
and humiliation. But he merely smiled self-consciously 
and was content to have the lad on his right attempt 
the sentence he could not render. His turn having 
passed, he gave himself up to thoughts of Hattie with 
a sigh of contentment. 

No one in the room knew what a wonderful secret 
was his. He thought of the others, including even Prof. 
Masson, with infinite pity. What did they know about 
the wondrous possibilities of life — the joy of it and 
the ecstasy? Dull plodders, all of them, with no con- 
ception of the high moments. It came to him with a 
shock that not one of them even knew Hattie! And 
he had held her in his arms ! And that was not twelve 
hours ago, he calculated. And here he was sitting in 
the Latin room, to all appearances not differing from 
the others. And not one that knew the delicious wonder 
of it. The date would be forever hallowed. He was 
never to forget it. He wrote it on the back inside cover 
of his Virgil, “ September 11.” Then he added the 
Latin word “ Carissime,” and this was followed by a 
hieroglyphic sign which stood for “ Hattie.” His 
innate timidity shoTved in this. Suppose some one should 
pick up the book and find her name in it! The very 
thought of it made him flush. Besides, there was some- 
thing intimately sacred in his thought of Hattie that 
prompted him to keep all knowledge of the bond be- 
tween them hidden in his heart. He could look at her 
name in a symbol meaning nothing to others. 


The Engagement 


109 


He would hold her in his arms again! He tingled 
at the thought. This was Monday morning, and an 
eternity would pass before Friday afternoon, when 
he could return to the Five Corners. He would not see 
her till Sunday, but somehow even the mere prospect 
of being in the same neighborhood with her cheered 
him. He was not sure that he would speak to her again 
on Sunday. There might not be an opportunity, and 
he surely would not make an opportunity. Because of 
what had passed between them he would more studiously 
than ever avoid all appearance of intimacy. His innate 
timidity dictated that course. As a thief is supposed 
to see an officer in every bush, Bram thought everyone 
would suspect that he had held Hattie in his arms. He 
determined to exercise great care to avoid suspicion. 

But some day in the dim future he would hold her 
in his arms again. There was already a delicious sense 
of proprietorship in his thought of Hattie. His eager 
look was toward the future. There were seven years 
left of his college course, four years in college and three 
in the seminary. But the years would bring her closer 
to him ; there was comfort in that thought, and on some 
indefinite day in the intervening years he would ask her 
the sacred question, the answer to which would mean the 
fulfillment of life to him. When the Latin hour ended 
he was busily dreaming of that distant day. 

On the same morning that Bram sat dreaming in 
Latin class Hattie Wanhope skipped over to Vrouw 
Poppema’s. It being Monday, Hattie’s mother was 
busy with the family wash. Chris Wanhope had never 
had enough ready money to buy his wife a washing 
machine, as his neighbors had done for their wives, and 


110 


Bram of the Five Corners 


wash day meant hard work for her. But as far as 
Hattie was concerned no such institution as wash day 
existed. Strong and vigorous physically, the girl would 
have been much better able than her mother to cope with 
the large pile of soiled clothes, but it had never occurred 
to Hattie to take her mother^s place. She was like her 
father : if the work had depended on her she would have 
postponed wash day until there were no more clothes in 
the house to wear. 

So on this Monday morning Hattie had gone off to 
pay a visit to Vrouw Poppema while her mother was 
making ineffectual onslaughts on the pile of clothes. 
The girl found Vrouw Poppema also busy with the 
family wash. The good woman looked up in surprise. 

“ Zoo, Hat,” she greeted her with considerable cold- 
ness, ‘‘ ain’t it wash day over to you folks ? ” 

It was Hattie’s turn to look surprised. Why Vrouw 
Poppema should ask this. question she could not under- 
stand. What connection could wash day have with 
what was in her own mind? And just now she was so 
full of that that it seemed impossible anyone could be 
thinking of other things. 

“ I believe ma is at it,” she said simply, and she 
considered the subject closed. 

‘‘ And you mean to tell me that you let your mother 
do all the washin’, with you never stickin’ your hand 
out of your sleeve? ” asked Vrouw Poppema sharply. 

Por reply Hattie giggled nervously. What could 
be the sense in discussing a family wash? She did not 
make known the object of her call, however; and Vrouw 
Poppema, after having politely desisted from work for 
a few moments, jumped up when the wash boiler on the 
kitchen stove threatened to boil over. And the impulse 


The Engagement 


111 


she felt to shake Hattie made her jab viciously at the 
clothes in the boiler with the short wooden wash-stick. 

“ You can say what you please,” she thought, “ but 
that girl ain’t got ’em all. Who ever heard of cornin’ 
visiting plump on Monday morning, and then sit there 
like a dummy giggling? Like as not she’ll just sit there 
and talk and giggle till she goes away, with no earthly 
reason for cornin’.” 

But presently Hattie did say something that made 
Vrouw Poppema start. 

“ Did Bram come by here this morning when he 
went to De Stad, or did he take the townline road ? ” 

Vrouw Poppema looked curiously at Hattie; she 
forgot the clothes in the boiler. Hattie giggled. 

“ Bram? ” said Vrouw Poppema — “ Bram Meester- 
ling? ” 

She looked closely at Hattie again, and this time the 
girl blushed. Hattie was particularly pretty when she 
blushed; and even the coldly critical Vrouw Poppema 
could not help noticing that the girl possessed beauty 
uncommon to the community. 

“ Wliy might you be wantin’ to know ? ” she asked 
with the frank curiosity of the country. 

‘‘ Oh, just because,” said Hattie, giggling and seem- 
ing to wish to create the impression of mystery. 

Vrouw Poppema’s curiosity was aroused, and from 
that moment on even the family wash became of minor 
importance. She had never forgotten how at one time 
Bram had raised his cap to Hattie. WTien Berend 
had scoffed at her idea that “ that meant something ” 
she had secretly vowed that some day she would prove 
him in the wrong, and now she seemed to be on the 
trail of something. 


112 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ But why should you be askin’ about Bram Meester- 
ling? ” she persisted; “ Bram ain’t nothin’ to you, far 
as I know. Besides, he’s only a boy; only just seven- 
teen, and he has to go to college seven more years before 
he’s ready for dominie.” 

“ Seven years more ! ” exclaimed the girl, and the 
blush left her face. 

“ Sure, seven years more, if he don’t drop. But Bram 
ain’t that kind; he’ll get there if anybody will. And 
then he won’t be so very old. Let’s see ” — she counted 
on her fingers — “ eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty- 
one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, why he’ll 
be only twenty-four when he’s through. That’s young ; 
that’s extra young. There was Dominie Hulsma what 
was thirty-nine before he was through ; and most of them 
are much older than twenty-four.” 

“ Then Bram won’t learn for dominie,” said Hattie. 

Vrouw Poppema started. 

What do you mean, won’t learn for dominie? What 
do you know about it ? ” The good lady was becoming 
impatient. 

“ He told me so,” said Hattie untruthfully. Vaguely 
she perceived that Vrouw Poppema was following a 
trail and that she, Hattie, was being cornered. So she 
indulged in a convenient lie. The lie was whole-hearted ; 
there was nothing vicious about it, and the girl did not 
think of it as a lie ; it had no relation to her moral life 
whatever ; it was merely a matter of so many words. 

Hattie had not come to visit Vrouw Poppema on 
Monday morning for any particular reason. She had 
spoken the exact truth when she said she asked about 
Bram “ just because.” The fact is she had felt that 
she must talk to some one about Bram. Vrouw Poppema 


The Engagement 


113 


was nearest and so she had come to her. When she went 
she did not mean to divulge her secret ; she merely wanted 
to gossip about the boy, and she did not realize that 
Vrouw Poppema might make deductions and draw con- 
clusions. Making deductions was something Hattie 
never did. She merely had an instinctive desire to talk 
about Bram. In the morning she had mentioned him to 
her mother; but Vrouw Wanhope’s mind had become so 
beclouded through her long and hopeless struggle 
against the encroachments of destitution that she could 
take no interest. Hattie might have told her in detail 
the scene of last night on the porch and her mother 
would have shown little interest. As for her father, it 
was utterly impossible to speak to him. 

But Vrouw Poppema on the other hand showed too 
much interest; Hattie saw that before long she would 
be compelled to tell the whole story. In a futile struggle 
against this she conveniently lied. 

“ I must ask Vrouw Meesterling about that; I never 
heard a word about him not learnin’ for dominie,” 
Vrouw Poppema said. 

“No, no, don’t ask her,” cried the girl in alarm; 
“ she don’t know, maybe,” she added lamely. 

“ What, his own mother not know ! ” exclaimed Vrouw 
Poppema, “ that’s funny ; who ever heard of such a 
thing.? ” 

“ I mean,” said Hattie, feeling the toils about her — 
“ I mean that it ain’t so long ago he made up his mind 
about it, and he maybe ain’t told her yet.” 

“ Come on now, as if she wouldn’t be the first one he 
would tell. And then there’s Anton and his Oom in De 
Stad, where he’s stayin’. Don’t you think but they 
know somethin’ about it? And don’t you believe it that 


114 


Bram of the Five Corners 


they would let him do anything so foolish. Specially 
his Oom in De Stad. You can just be sure that he has 
Bram under his thumb.” 

Hattie blanched visibly. Oom Bartel represented a 
force that she had not reckoned with. What about this 
uncle, and why should he have anything to do with 
Bram.? 

“No, no, that’s too much to believe; he must have 
been jokin’ when he told you he ain’t goin’ to learn for 
dominie. And yet,” she added, after a pause, “ it ain’t 
a thing to joke about.” 

She looked at Hattie sharply, and her look said 
almost as plainly as words could have done that she 
believed the girl was lying. 

A new thought struck Vrouw Poppema. 

“ And why should he be telling you first ? ” she asked. 

Hattie looked down and blushed again. The struggle 
of her feeble intellect against the sharper mind of Vrouw 
Poppema was becoming too much for her. She knew 
definitely now that she would tell Vrouw Poppema what 
she had not meant to tell her just yet — not until she 
had seen Bram again. 

“ We’re engaged,” she said in answer to the older 
woman’s question. And then she giggled in complete 
abandon, glad that the struggle was over. 

Vrouw Poppema dropped the wash-stick she had been 
holding suspended over the boiler on the stove. She 
stared at Hattie, her mouth open. The first slight 
impulse of incredulity gave way to a look of triumph. 
It flashed through her mind that her victory over Berend 
would be complete. 

And having crossed her Rubicon Hattie told Vrouw 
Poppema all about her engagement to Bram Meester- 


The Engagement 


115 


ling. She spared no details. She poured into the now 
sympathetic ear of her listener all the minutiae of her 
“ affair.” There was no reserve. Her cheeks glowed 
with pride and pleasure. Hattie had no imagination; 
and what to the boy had meant the sudden touch of an 
angel’s wing had meant to her merely an unspoken 
question for which she had been somewhat impatiently 
waiting. To him the touch of her lips had been almost 
sacramental; to Hattie it had been something very 
practical. While he was thinking of the dim future — 
a future roseate with hope — she was thinking of the 
present. She was ready to be married immediately. 
Her body was mature, and instinctively she was listen- 
ing to its call. 

“ And so he told you he wasn’t goin’ to learn for 
dominie? ” Vrouw Poppema asked finally when the girl 
stopped, breathless. 

‘‘ Well — no — yes — ” she hedged ; “ I mean he 
didn’t just say so, but what else could he do? Seven 
years is too long.” 

‘‘ But there are plenty of others what have done it,” 
urged Vrouw Poppema. 

“ It’s too long,” repeated Hattie doggedly. 

“ And his ma don’t know nothing about it yet, nor 
your ma? ” Vrouw Poppema glowed with pride and 
triumph that she was the sole possessor of the girl’s 
secret. 

“ No, it’s a secret ; and don’t tell no one. Remember, 
don’t tell no one.” 

But before an hour had passed Hattie herself had 
told her secret ” to her own mother. That good 
woman ceased her rather ineffectual efforts at washing 
for a few moments to hear the story. Hattie had now 


116 


Bram of the Five Corners 


thoroughly persuaded herself that her engagement had 
been as formal and regular as ever any engagement had 
been ; hence she told the story more convincingly to her 
mother than she had done to Vrouw Poppema. But the 
result was less interesting to the girl. Vrouw Wanhope 
was but mildly interested and she soon resumed her 
washing. 

In the course of the day Hattie found occasion to tell 
her “ secret ” to others. Before evening most of the 
people of the Five Corners knew all the details. 

Vrouw Poppema made it her special duty to carry the 
news to Bram’s mother. She had not taken seriously 
Hattie’s injunction about keeping the secret. 

“ Bram, mijn jongen,*' whispered the mother to her- 
self, after the visitor had left. And into that term of 
endearment she put all that was in her heart: yearning 
tenderness first of all for the boy who had that very 
morning seemed to her a special gift from her dead 
lover; a sense of bewilderment that the child who had 
but yesterday seemed her baby was escaping from the 
nest and was adventuring into places where she could 
not follow him ; fear that there might be some truth in 
Vrouw Poppema’s statement that her boy would not 
continue his studies for the ministry. 

But this fear she immediately put from her. She 
knew Bram as Vrouw Poppema could not know him 
and as Hattie Wanhope could not know him; she knew 
the father in him, the steadfastness of him and the 
singleness of purpose of him that was not changed by 
every turn of circumstance. And as she again whis- 
pered, “ Bram, mijn jongen/^ there was renewed assur- 
ance in the words. Again, as was her wont, she was 
mildly defending her home circle. 


The Engagement 


117 


After the first gust of instinctive, elemental jealousy 
toward the woman who was robbing her of her child, 
Vrouw Meesterling controlled her feelings; she found 
no personal objection to the girl Bram had chosen. The 
family was shiftless, it was true, but Vrouw Meesterling 
did not connect that in any way with the girl herself. 
And her almost delicate beauty of face and figure she 
could not help but admit. 

There was anguish in the thought of her own dis- 
placement by another woman ; but with unaffected dig- 
nity and quiet bravery she fought that down before the 
end of the week, when she should see Bram again. 
Though it was with many a pang, she made the never- 
ending sacrifice of motherhood, and thought only of 
him, forgetting her own feelings. For behold, her boy 
had become a man; her little one had become a strong 


man ! 


CHAPTER X 


bram’s first stand 
“TJEY! Bram, hej!” 

JLjL Vrouw Poppema gesticulated wildly. She 
swung her arms vigorously and beckoned the boy on 
the highway to come over to the house. Shifting his 
little bundle of books to the other arm Bram turned 
in through the gate. 

“ What for a story is that, Bram,” the good lady 
began without apology or introduction, ‘‘ that Hat 
Wanhope has been tellin’, that you ain’t goin’ to learn 
for dominie.? ” 

Bram turned white at the mention of Hattie’s name. 
But he recovered himself when he learned that the 
question concerned his profession. 

“ I don’t know,” he answered hesitatingly ; “ did she 
say that.? ” 

“ That she did,” asserted Vrouw Poppema vigorously ; 
“ ain’t nobody been over to De Stad this week to ask 
you about it.? ” Vrouw Poppema could not understand 
this almost criminal lack of interest in a vital matter. 
“ Everybody’s talkin’ about it here, and I should think 
your folks would have been over.” 

“ They probably don’t believe it,” said Bram, still 
mystified ; “ I don’t see how they could.” 

“ But Hat says so up and down ; she’s been teUin’ 
everybody. She says you ain’t goin’ to wait seven 
years, but that the weddin’ is coming off pretty soon.” 

[ 118 ] 


Brarnfs First Stand 


119 


Bram turned white once more. There was a sick 
feeling in the pit of his stomach, and his knees trembled. 
At that moment he would have been willing to face any 
physical danger rather than be standing there under 
the searching scrutiny of Vrouw Poppema. 

“ The wedding.? ” he faltered. 

“ Heden, Bram, what’s the matter.? ” said Vrouw 
Poppema solicitously, “ you look so white. Come in 
and I’ll get you a cup of tea.” 

“ No, thank you,” Bram managed to say; “ I’m not 
feeling well and I guess I’ll go home now.” And before 
Vrouw Poppema could ask more questions he had 
turned away and was walking down the path. 

“ Queer boy, that Bram,” muttered Vrouw Poppema; 
“ you can never get nothin’ out of him.” 

Bram sat down under the elm tree a quarter of a 
mile from home. He needed time to think before he 
should face his mother. Timid and self-conscious, he 
had found it impossible to discuss Hattie with Vrouw 
Poppema. But she had said enough so that he was 
certain he would be compelled to discuss her with his 
mother. 

Hattie evidently considered herself engaged. Now 
that he was alone the boy thrilled at the thought. It 
seemed too wonderful to be true. If it had not been 
for the necessity of facing the world with it, it would 
have filled his cup of happiness to overflowing. This 
wonderful creature whom he had held in his arms a few 
days ago looked upon him, timid, bashful Bram Meester- 
ling, as her betrothed! There was a glory in the 
thought -that made him flush — until he remembered 
that his mother would ask questions and Anton would 
ask questions and later Oom Bartel would ask questions. 


120 


Bram of the Five Corners 


And his relation to Hattie was so sacred and holy that 
talking about it was like the desecration of a 
sanctuary. 

In his vague imaginings about this big event in his 
life Bram had always thought the betrothal would be 
in the nature of a definite question and answer. The 
books he had read had lent color to this idea. Was not 
that the way it was done in novels ? He had constructed 
a little drama which would be enacted on that far-off 
day when he should come to claim her. It was not to be 
unpremeditated; it was to be almost as solemn and 
impressive as the marriage itself. 

But Hattie was older than he. Bram never forgot 
that. He looked up to her and thought of her as 
possessed of a wisdom in matters of the heart that made 
him humble. She considered the episode of Sunday night 
an engagement. Was it not possible that the books 
were posing He had occasionally discovered a pose 
in them in other matters. Were they possibly truck- 
ling to so-called respectability.?^ 

“ I wonder if, after all, the world of lovers always 
resorts to such formalities in settling this big ques- 
tion? ” thought Bram. “Hattie must think I’m fear- 
fully ignorant,” and he flushed with shame. 

Vrouw Meesterling was possessed of a rare dignity 
that always appeared to best advantage in her attitude 
toward those she loved. Her face was redeemed from 
homeliness by a kindliness that made one forget the 
wrinkles. Ignorant in many ways, she had the knowl- 
edge that far surpasses the lore of books — an intimate 
imderstanding of the feelings of those who were dear 
to her, and a sympathy with their joys and per- 
plexities. 


Bramfs First Stand 


121 


She understood Bram better than anyone else because 
she loved him as she had never loved anyone since the 
death of her silent but brave-hearted husband. She 
knew all the timidity of him and the sensitiveness ; and 
many was the time that she had suffered when she had 
seen him suffer at the hands of those who did not under- 
stand him. 

When she saw him coming along the path, past the 
long row of willow trees, she composed herself to the 
most matter-of-fact attitude she could. She had a cup 
of tea ready for him, and a worstbroodje that she had 
saved especially for him since the day before. 

She eagerly talked of matters other than the subject 
that was uppermost in her mind. She even ventured 
to mention Hattie’s name casually once or twice without 
in any way connecting it with the rumors that had set 
the Five Corners agog the past week. Bram was to 
choose his own time to speak. If he had elected to 
remain silent she would have acquiesced. ‘ Years ago 
she had learned to hold sacred the silences of her hus- 
band, and she had come to an understanding of the 
nature of her son because of the long apprenticeship 
she had served in learning to understand the son’s 
father. 

When finally after much hesitation Bram brought 
up the subject he was sure of her ready sympathy. 

“ Of course, Vrouw Poppema is mistaken about your 
not goin’ on to school,” she said so confidently that it 
hardly required an answer. 

“ Of course, mother,” said Bram. 

“ Hattie is a good girl,” ventured Vrouw Meesterling, 
almost as inarticulate as her boy on this subject. 

“ Yes, mother,” he answered simply, almost coldly. 


122 


Bram of the Five Corners 


And that was all he said. But his mother understood. 
She knew there was perhaps a world of silent passion 
behind the words. Though in her simplicity she could 
not have expressed it, she knew that no utterances of 
poet or singer could have deeper feeling back of them. 
Vrouw Meesterling knew nothing about poets and 
singers ; but she had sounded the depths of a strong 
nature, and she had found the beauty of the universe 
there. 

And it was this strength that Hattie came into col- 
lision with when she confidently suggested to Bram 
that now that they were engaged it was time for him 
to be^n thinking of leaving school. Characteristically 
Bram had not discussed the engagement with her, but 
had taken it for granted. He had approached her with 
respectful timidity, but Hattie had thrown away reserve. 
And now they were sitting on the old porch where they 
had sat last Sunday night. She had drawn his arm 
about her. 

Bram trembled. He felt that the greatest struggle 
of his life was upon him. Here was the girl he loved 
making her first request, and he was compelled to 
refuse her. That he was not yet eighteen would have 
prevented most girls from making the request ; but this 
fact never occurred to Hattie. Ways and means after 
marriage also had never presented themselves to her 
mind. She was the daughter of a man who never split 
kindling until he needed it on the cold winter mornings ! 

“ I’m sorry, Hattie,” he faltered, not yet used to 
callmg her that, “ but I — ” 

He stopped, at a loss how to go on. Her lovely, thin 
face was very near his own, and the moonlight intensified 
its beauty. The boy trembled with the ecstasy of pos- 


Bram/s First Stand 


123 


session. For a moment he did not know whether the 
sentence that would give her pain would ever be com- 
pleted. After all, what else could matter if he could 
make this girl who had given herself to him, happy.?* 
The farm would be no hardship; to forego the joy 
which the quest of knowledge gave would be no hard- 
ship. He would gladly work and slave for her. For 
the moment she made the picture of life complete ; there 
was nothing beyond her. 

There was nothing beyond her, but — the image of 
Dominie Wijnberg obtruded itself, the low-ceilinged 
study, the old faded couch, the minister with eyes half 
closed in weariness, his thin hands hanging limply — 
Bram forgot even Hattie for a moment. The thrill of 
the readings from Paradise Lost; the picture of the 
epic figure of the “ Lord God ! ” And the words almost 
formed themselves on his lips, “ We pass our life as a 
talp that is told.” 

It was this picture that stood in the way of sur- 
render. Dominie Wijnberg had expected him to keep 
on in his struggle upward. The minister was like a 
living presence now — he who had found his life in 
losing it ! Intoxicating though the prospect was that 
Hattie held out, the minister had expected something 
more from him — to reach out, to do something, to 
feel the thrill that the mere recital of the Ellis island 
work had brought! 

Bram aroused himself; it was no longer difficult to 
say calmly: 

“ I’m sorry, Hattie, but I must go on and finish my 
education.” 

Half in alarm, half playfully, Hattie clapped her 
hand over his mouth. Her beautiful face was right 


124 


Bram of the Five Corners 


above his, and she smiled into his eyes. Tenderly, but 
deliberately and firmly, he took her hand away. He 
moved a little from her and sat facing her. 

Bram never forgot the long struggle on the hot 
September evening in the bright moonlight — the pretty 
face of the girl he loved with the deep passion of his 
inarticulate soul, very near his own. He said very 
little. But to all Hattie’s protests and pleas he opposed 
a stone wall of his unshakable determination. Hattie 
did not know that he was fighting harder against himself 
than against her. Her threats of breaking the engage- 
ment had no effect on Bram. Nor were these threats 
made in good faith; they were merely used as a weapon 
to be thrown aside if the weapon proved ineffectual. 
Bram turned paler in the moonlight, but he said noth- 
ing; which Hattie had learned to understand meant 
that he did not yield. 

Hattie resorted to tearful pleading. The indelicacy 
of her attitude did not strike her or the boy. He felt 
that from her point of view she was entirely right, 
and he would have yielded if her point of view had 
not conflicted with the highest aspirations in him. 

Hattie clung to him when he rose to leave her. Though 
three years older than Bram, she assumed the attitude of 
a child toward him — a child who has been denied its 
dearest wish. Bram felt old just then, old in trouble 
and care. And unconsciously he assumed the attitude 
of a man toward this child-woman — the child whose 
wish he had been compelled to refuse for her own good. 
He walked into the moonlight with bowed head. 

Hattie looked after him till his shadowy form became 
indistinguishable. Then she sat down and sobbed bit- 
terly — as a child sobs. The next morning at the 


Brarnfs First Stand 


125 


breakfast table she giggled uncontrollably when her 
father broke an egg that proved too old. The child, 
who a few hours before had felt herself heartbroken, had 
forgotten her sorrows and was again living the life of 
the moment — this child whose body was full grown. 

And that same morning in Latin class Bram sat 
brooding. Between himself and the Virgil the picture 
of Hattie, tearful and disconsolate, kept obtruding 
itself. Her thin, pretty face, tear-stained, would give 
him no rest. How was he to know that at that same 
moment she was giggling almost shriekingly? A week 
ago the wonder of young love had filled him. Then the 
world had seemed bright and happy; it had seemed 
impossible that sorrow could ever touch him again. 
But already the pain of love was making him suffer. 

Oom Bartel was busily engaged in writing an article 
for Het Gereformeerde WeeJcblad. He was writing on 
the theme of the new Christian Political Party that was 
in process of being formed. Oom Bartel often wrote 
articles for Het WeeJcblad. He felt that in this way he 
was helping the cause of religion. A leader in the 
Christian Reformed circles in De Stad, Bartel Wester- 
baan felt it incumbent upon himself to give the rank and 
file of the people the benefit of his intellectual powers. 
For some years the forming of a new political party, 
founded on Calvinistic principles — a party that would 
reconstruct American society — had been a passion with 
him. He could not understand why the membership 
of the churches in the Christian Reformed denomination 
throughout the United States did not flock to the banner 
of the new Christian Political Party. The theological- 
political philosophy of Calvin seemed to him a beautiful 


126 


Bram of the Five Corners 


structure of thought ; he could not understand how 
anyone could fail to subscribe to it. “ A world 
philosophy ” he was fond of calling it. Now he wrote: 

“ We have schools for Christian instruction; that is 
well and good. We have our own Christian hospitals 
and Christian insane asylums. We have our Christian 
labor unions. In all the spheres of life we are applying 
our Calvinistic principles ; we are attempting to recon- 
struct society ( i the basis formulated in Calvin’s world- 
philosophy. E ut hitherto we have been merely tapping 
little creeks ; we have been neglecting the fountain-head. 
What we must do now is combine all our energies, apply 
the same tactics we used in the establishment of all the 
institutions I have named, and take over the government 
of the United States itself. Reconstruct the govern- 
ment and place it on the basis of Calvin’s world- 
philosophy. That, and nothing less, is our program.” 

Bartel’s partner, Nicholas Eskers, at this point 
appeared in the doorway. 

“ What do you think,” he asked in his deliberate way, 
“ should I give the horse oats or bran this noon.^* ” 

Bartel did not hear him. He was on the track of an 
elusive argument ; he had almost established the connec- 
tion he was trying to make. Nicholas repeated his 
question more deliberately than before, as though 
weighing the relative merits of oats and bran more 
carefully. But his partner was still oblivious to his 
presence. He vaguely felt the interruption, however, as 
a disturbing influence. He became restive, although he 
continued to chase the elusive thought. 

‘‘ Do you think, Bartel,” again came the dull drone 
of Nicholas’ voice, “ should I feed the horse oats or 
bran this noon ^ ” 


Bram's First Stand 


127 


Bartel comprehended the words, and comprehending, 
he lost his temper. Gone was the thread of the thought 
he had had almost within his grasp. 

“ How should I know.'^ ” he snapped ; ‘‘ feed him pork 
and beans for all I care ! ” 

“ J a-a — maybe that would be all right,” said 
Nicholas slowly, half to himself. He stood thinking 
for a moment. “No — I can’t say as I ever heard of 
such a thing — pork and beans for a horse. But then, 
more wonderful things have happened ; men have learned 
to fly. Who knows.'’ ” And on his way to the stable 
he again debated the question of whether it should be 
oats or bran. 

Bartel threw his half-smoked cigar away, crushed 
the frail pen in his powerful hand, and glared after his 
retreating partner. There was for a moment hate in 
his eyes ; but by stern inhibition that was the result 
of years of self-control, he guarded the doors of his 
lips so that not even a mild expletive issued forth under 
circumstances under which the average man would have 
resorted to profanity. 

When Bram entered the store, a bundle of books 
under his arm, his uncle’s face was still suffused with 
an angry red. 

“ ZoOy there you are at last,” he said severely. 
“ Chris Wanhope was in here this morning, and he has 
been saying things. If it wasn’t that Chris isn’t just 
right I would have come to school to see you about it.”* 

Bram stood in embarrassed silence. He had an enor- 
mous respect for his uncle and he valued his good 
opinion very highly. All forenoon he had been wretched ; 
and this prying of Oom Bartel into what seemed to Bram 
sacred was almost more than he could bear. 


128 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ Well, Bram, what have you to say for yourself? ” 
his uncle asked in the tone of one who is addressing a 
small boy. Oom Bartel never could understand that 
there could be growth in his nephew. 

“ It’s so,” Bram faltered miserably. He laid his books 
on the counter and awaited the verdict of his uncle. 

It was not long in coming. 

“ You mean to tell me you are engaged to an ignorant 
daughter of an illiterate farmer — you a boy of 
seventeen ? ” 

“ Oom Bartel,” said Bram quietly, and character- 
istically his uncle mistook the boy’s calm intensity for 
shamefacedness, “ Oom Bartel, don’t — ” 

He stopped in confusion. 

“ Nonsense, jongen; you’re full of those novels I have 
off and on found in your room. They are poor mental 
food for anyone, but most of all for one who is to enter 
the ministry. I should think you would know better.” 

Bram made no reply. He was miserable, and life no 
longer seemed worth living. 

“ I am looking out for your own good, Bram,” con- 
tinued Bartel severely. “ You are too young to be 
looking out for yourself ; and if your mother and Anton 
do not see to it then it becomes my duty to guide you." 
You must sit down this afternoon and write to the girl 
that it is all a mistake. This afternoon, do you hear ? ” 

Bram made no reply. He was not cowed; he was 
humiliated. His silence was the silence of embarrass- 
ment. 

“ I’ll be back at two o’clock ; then you can have it 
ready,” said Bartel. 

“ It won’t be ready, Oom Bartel,” said Bram falter- 
ingly ; “ I can’t write it.” 


Bramfs First Stand 


129 


“ What ! ” shouted his uncle, the angry red again 
gathering in his massive face, “ you will persist in your 
course and wreck your life and destroy your usefulness 
for the holy calling you are to enter ! ” 

Then he calmed himself ; he began to feel something of 
the unalterable determination there was back of the 
boy’s refusal. 

“ Bram,” he said more quietly, “ you know that those 
who are supported by the Students’ Aid fund must sign 
a contract not to become engaged until the year before 
they graduate from the theological school. You may 
depend on it that the church leaders who made that rule 
had good reasons for it. You are not being supported 
by the church fund, but you are being educated through 
the sacrifices of myself, your mother, and Anton. 
Morally the same rule applies to you.” 

Bartel had a deep respect for logic. Since he could 
prove logically that Bram should break the unfortunate 
engagement, he felt there was nothing that could be 
urged against it. Nor did Bram try ; but even his uncle 
felt that his silence was eloquent, and he knew that the 
letter would not be written. 

‘‘ You must never forget that you are studying for 
the ministry,” he continued earnestly. “ It makes a 
great deal more difference how you conduct yourself 
than how some one else acts. In you the honor of the 
church is at stake. When you go wrong it reflects on 
yourself not only, but it reflects on all of us who are 
fighting for Calvinistic principles. We claim to have 
a world-philosophy, and our sense of the dignity of 
our own importance should be according.” 

Bram said never a word. He was miserable. The 
shame of this open discussion of a subject that was to 


130 


Bram of the Five Corners 


him invested with a halo was overwhelming him. He 
could not say a word in self-defense even. 

Again he longed for Dominie Wijnberg. Somehow 
it seemed to the boy that the minister might have 
advised him aright in this storm of perplexities and 
boyhood tragedy that was breaking over him. Instinc- 
tively he felt that at least Dominie Wijnberg would not 
have attempted to solve the question by logic. He 
would have looked upon it not as an opportunity for 
the exercise of moral mathematics but as a human 
problem to be dealt with humanly. 

Bram’s boyish love for Hattie Wanhope had given 
him a realization of the wonder and the beauty of life ; 
but it also had made him drink the cup of woe to the 
dregs of humiliation. 

Case came bounding into the store grinning horribly. 
His father drew the boy to him fondly. Bartel had a 
sudden impulse to tell Bram something of his own early 
history. But he checked himself in time. He looked 
on Case as God’s visitation on him for the sin of his 
early manhood, a splendid illustration to warn his 
nephew against the pitfalls in his path; but there was 
something in the man’s love for his son that kept him 
silent. 


CHAPTER XI 


CORDELIA 

T hree years passed, and much may happen in 
three years. It is not too much to expect that in 
three years even a man of Oom Bartel’s temperament 
should change his mind. Oom Bartel learned to respect 
the unchangeable power of Bram’s determination; only 
Oom Bartel did not call it determination ; his name for 
it was stubbornness, but he knew it was unshakable, no 
matter what term were used to describe it. It was the 
first time in his life that the timid, self-conscious boy 
had seen himself forced to take a definite stand in opposi- 
tion to some one he honored and respected. He was 
trying out his wings, as it were, in unconscious antici- 
pation of the greater struggles that were before him. 
Oom Bartel was compelled to yield finally. All his 
bluster and all his argument, he found, were as nothing 
when the boy had definitely made up his mind. He 
accepted the inevitable in the end; but not until after 
numerous attempts to make his nephew see his mistake. 
In the course of time Oom Bartel gradually veered 
around to Bram’s point of view. And when he had once 
become reconciled to the engagement he went to the 
other extreme and constituted himself a kind of watch- 
dog over the boy’s heart. He reminded Bram on all 
possible occasions of his promise to Hattie. Oom Bartel 
was never very happy when not engaged in forcing his 
own ideas on another. That is why, when he could not 
[ 131 ] 


182 


Bram of the Five Corners 


compel Bram to renounce his plans, he reconciled him- 
self to the engagement in time by constantly forcing 
the boy to remember the inviolability of his promise. 

“ You must never forget that you are to enter the 
ministry,” said Oom Bartel ; “ more is expected of you 
than of others.” 

“ I know, uncle,” said Bram hesitatingly, although 
he had never convinced himself that this oft-repeated 
admonition of Oom Bartel’s was true. Why should the 
standards be lower for a prospective lawyer or doctor 
than for a minister? You see Bram was twenty, and 
he had begun to ask himself questions. But he still 
deferred much to the opinions of his uncle — opinions 
always expressed with a reassuring positiveness of con- 
viction. During the years that had passed Bram had 
never faltered in his sincere admiration for the intel- 
lectual powers of Oom Bartel. And he did not yet 
suspect that his uncle’s vaunted intellectual range was 
narrow. 

So now he said, “ I know, uncle,” but there was a 
mental reservation which, because of his deep respect 
for Oom Bartel, he did not put into words. 

“ As much really ought to be expected of others as 
of me,”. is the way he put it to himself. 

Oom Bartel was taking Bram to task for having 
asked Cordelia Elliot to go with him to the opening 
number of the Christian College Lecture Course. 

“ Hattie W'anhope is your affianced wife,” he said 
severely, “ and it is very undignified, to say the least, 
for you to be running about with other girls. When 
you first took up with this Wanhope girl I warned you. 
But you persisted. And now you must stick to her. 
I don’t know but that after all I was wrong. Better, 


Cordelia 


133 


say I now, have some one at home to keep you out of 
danger here in the city.” 

The danger lurking in a young man’s path by reason 
of the women he comes into contact with was an obses- 
sion with Bartel Westerbaan. His own early mistake 
had cast a shadow over his life ; but for that mistake 
he could now have been a minister. 

“ But to go running after others here in spite of 
Hattie at home is scandalous.” 

“ You wrong me, uncle,” said Bram, to whom the 
subject of his intimate relations with Hattie was always 
poignantly distasteful ; ‘‘ I am not forgetting my duty 
to Hattie, as you seem to assume. She doesn’t care 
about these college functions. I am not doing anything 
underhanded; she knows all about it. It is merely a 
kind of custom to take some one to the lectures.” 

“ I know, Bram, it is easy to' reason it away. But I 
am older than you, and I know the human heart and its 
treachery better than you do. What kind of a girl 
is this Miss Elliot.'* ” 

“ Why, she — well — ” stammered Bram, “ she came 
into the class this year to finish the work begun in a 
school in Chicago.” 

‘‘ And what church does she attend ? ” 

Bram had feared this question ; but he met it without 
flinching. 

“ Her father was a Baptist. He died last year, and 
now she is staying here with an aunt — a Baptist. I 
suppose she attends one of the Baptist churches.” 

Oom Bartel looked at the boy sternly. 

“ Next year you are to enter the theological school,” 
he said ; “ don’t you see anything unseemly in being on 
such intimate terms with a Baptist.? ” 


134 


Bram of the Five Corners 


Bram felt that he was about to lose liis temper. He 
controlled himself with an effort, although it hurt his 
sensitive nature to be deliberately misunderstood by Oom 
Bartel. 

Bram had once taken Hattie to a lecture. The address 
had been very serious. It had been on a theological 
subject by a noted minister in the Christian Reformed 
denomination. But while the speaker had been making 
one of his best points Hattie had suddenly been seized 
by a fit of uncontrollable giggling. So irrepressible had 
been the seizure that she had finally been compelled to 
leave the building at the suggestion of Bram, who was 
smarting under the horrified gaze of those about him. 
The boy had followed her down the aisle in utter 
humiliation. When they had reached the kindly protec- 
tion of the darkness out of doors she had offered no 
explanation of her conduct. And Bram, out of innate 
delicacy, had not asked her to explain. 

As they were driving homeward in the moonlight he 
forgot his humiliation. There was an almost pathetic 
loveliness about Hattie, and to the impressionable boy 
the slender girl by his side seemed very beautiful and 
very desirable. Already he had made an excuse for 
her giggling: she was very nervous sometimes, and 
probably she had suffered more keenly than he because 
of the seizure of giggling. He had decided that seizure 
was the word. People are not blamed for what they 
cannot control, and why should he blame her? 

He was driving, and her arm was about him. 

“ I’m glad we left,” she said at last ; “ it’s much 
more fun bein’ here.” And she accompanied the words 
with a tighter pressure of her arm about the boy’s 
shoulder. Bram was thrilled. And yet he felt annoyed 


Cordelia 


135 


that he was not unconscious of her using the word 
‘‘ bein’ ” instead of “ being.” 

“ Do you know what made me laugh there in the 
meetin’.'’ ” she asked presently. “I just happened to 
think how father fell down stairs this mornin’. Oh, 
it was too funny for anything ! ” And the seizure of 
giggling returned. Her voice rang out loud and clear 
in the darkness. Some one in the house they were pass- 
ing opened the door inquiringly. 

After that Hattie did not go to lectures any more. 
And Bram did not urge her to go. 

“ I’ll teach her all those things by and by,” thought 
Bram. “ That will be wonderful — to teach Hattie ! ” 
And he went a-daydreaming, constructing little domestic 
dramas, in which he and the woman he had chosen 
would be the actors. 

Bram was all unconscious of the fact that he always 
thought of Hattie as a young girl. She remained to 
him the girl who had cushioned his head on her lap 
after the berry-picking expedition ; who, with the 
thoughtless bravado of the ’teens, had drawn her shawl 
about him and had laid her soft cheek against his ; and 
yet she was twenty-three, and he was only twenty. 
Physically she was a mature woman. But Bram felt 
very old and thought of her as very young. Always 
in talking to her, he unconsciously assumed the child- 
mind and brought the talk down to her level. He never 
came to her for intellectual stimulation. But her body 
was very sweet. Although mentally there was little 
companionship between him and Hattie, physically they 
were on an equality. He was always stirred strangely 
by the touch of her. And her touch never lost its 
power to thrill him. It was the call of the physical. 


186 


Bram of the Five Corners 


and he answered it, instinctively unashamed, as indeed 
he need not be ashamed, any more than the bird needs 
to be ashamed when she feels the eggs beneath her 
wings. 

He was walking home by the side of Cordelia Elliot, 
after the two had attended the lecture. 

Cordelia was stirred. The speaker had incidentally 
mentioned social settlement work, and he had spoken 
of it disparagingly. He had called it an offshoot of 
humanism ; and humanism, he had said, was the modern 
tendency of thought and action that was in violent 
antithesis to Calvinism. The latter had God for its 
pivot, while the former was a movement of man, by 
man, and for the glorification of man. Social settle- 
ment work, he had said, was based on an erroneous 
premise. 

“ But he was speaking of the settlement movement in 
its logical relation to the greater issue,” defended Bram ; 
“ a movement meritorious in itself, if considered de- 
tached from the larger world movement, may be harmful 
when it tends to weaken the larger movement or when 
it runs parallel with another world movement which is 
in antithesis to the other great movement.” Bram was 
frankly but rather stumblingly quoting the gist of the 
speaker’s lecture. 

“ Logical ! ” cried Cordelia, “ logical ! I have heard 
that word oftener than any other since I came to Chris- 
tian College. Everything is built on logic. It all looks 
to me like a matter of mere syllogism and moral mathe- 
matics. The very plan of salvation has its major and 
minor premise here. Father was a settlement worker, 
and that is perhaps the reason why I despised the 


Cordelia 


137 


speaker tonight more than he deserves. My father 
literally gave his life for the poor outcasts.” 

There was a tremor in her voice, and it stirred Bram. 
For a moment he did not make reply. Then he again 
ventured something about the connection between the 
great Calvinistic world-philosophy and the attitude 
toward social questions. 

“ If logic could save the world,” the girl answered, 
“ no one would ever be lost. But it can’t. Father often 
told of human wrecks who knew all about the logic of 
the higher life; who even knew the inevitable relations 
between their repeated lapses and the final breakdown 
of their human machine. But it was useless. A man 
might preach forever to the slums this world- 
philosophy and the nicely put together plan of redemp- 
tion, without accomplishing as much as my father did 
who cared little for the differences between one denom- 
ination and another. He did not give people the 
reasoning of a logical mind ; he gave them himself ! ” 

The intense earnestness of the girl again stirred the 
boy. Why did she make him think of Dominie Wijn- 
berg? The warning of Oom Bartel against this Baptist 
girl came to Bram’s mind. Was not his uncle right 
after all? Was not this girl at this moment insinuat- 
ingly sowing the seed of false doctrine? 

But he rejected this thought almost as soon as it was 
formed. She was too intensely in earnest to be con- 
sciously thinking of a system of faith. Yet because of 
long training Bram unconsciously assumed an attitude 
of defense. But as soon as he became conscious of this 
he began to struggle against it. 

“ Dominie Wijnberg would never have thrown up 
bai’s against another human being who is speaking from 


138 


Bram of the Five Corners 


the depths of feeling,” he thought ; “ he would have 
opened his mind and heart, no matter what the creed.” 

Often thus the “ dead hand ” of the minister was 
upon the boy’s sleeve, but to Bram it was not such, 
it was a hand always stretched out in blessing. 

And yet, there was Oom Bartel’s warning — but 
here Cordelia Elliot again broke in on his thoughts. 

She told him of the settlement work her father had 
done, and Bram forgot world movements and world 
philosophies as he listened. It was a series of simple 
human stories the girl told, but they were told with a 
splendid abandon of enthusiasm and feeling that made 
Bram forget his surroundings — as he used to forget 
his surroundings when listening to Dominie Wijnberg. 
The noble men and women who had been daily her 
associates since babyhood; the deeds of heroism that 
were never mentioned in the newspapers ; the tragedies 
of the slums, and the simple loves and hates and hopes 
and fears of the people — all this she painted artlessly, 
with an earnestness that thrilled the boy. The recital 
gave him the strange illusion that Dominie Wijnberg 
was again telling him the story of Ellis island. 

And before he knew it he was telling Cordelia Elliot 
the story of the minister. As it progressed Bram 
forgot his surroundings, he forgot the girl he was 
speaking to. Dominie Wijnberg was speaking through 
him, or so at least it seemed to the boy. His story 
was as artless as that of Cordelia Elliot had been ; and 
her quick comprehension and eager questions, showing 
an instinctive interest in the great human facts that 
were Imck of a work such as Dominie Wijnberg had 
done, led him on and on. He painted a portrait of the 
minister such as only he who has complete sympathy 


Cordelia 


139 


and understanding can paint. His imagination con- 
jured up pictures of what the life of his friend must 
have been back there at Ellis island before he came 
to the Five Corners. The boy’s very skin prickled 
with enthusiasm and sympathy, and he knew instinc- 
tively that he had deeply stirred the girl walking by 
his side in the moonlight. 

Then suddenly it came to him, almost with a shock, 
that for the first time in his life he was not inarticulate 
in the presence of a woman ! 

“ And think of calling all that futile and worthless 
because it is an offshoot of the so-called humanistic 
movement, and because it happens to be in antithesis to 
some ism ! ” said Cordelia Elliot. And from the tone 
of her voice Bram knew that her cheeks were flushed. 

As a student who was soon to enter upon his theo- 
logical studies Bram felt in duty bound to defendC'the 
speaker. But somehow his words seemed forced and 
unnatural after the splendid outburst of enthusiasm he 
had indulged in in his story of EUis island. 

They walked along in silence for a few moments. 
By mutual consent, because each was intensely inter- 
ested in what the other had to say, they had taken a 
circuitous route from the college chapel to Cordelia’s 
home. They had arrived on the street where the girl’s 
aunt lived, and without knowing it they proceeded more 
slowly. 

‘‘ Yet in spite of what you say,” said Bram, “ it 'was 
a remarkably clearcut lecture. He showed an intellec- 
tual grasp that I cannot help but admire. He reminds 
me of my uncle.” 

“ But I am sure he does not remind you of your 
Dominie Wijnberg.” 


140 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ No — he — he does not,” Bram admitted, and he 
wondered how she should know. In fact he wondered 
why the speaker should not have reminded him of the 
minister. 

“ I’ll admit, it was wonderful as an intellectual feat. 
But I don’t think he could ever have moved an audience 
to tears. And my experience in my father’s settlement 
has shown me that often tears are worth a great deal 
more than logic.” 

“ But he was speaking to an audience composed 
almost entirely of Hollanders. The Hollander is not 
emotional. Tears would have been out of place.” 

‘‘ I admit it freely. But my impression is that he 
could not have moved any audience to tears, or anyone 
in any audience.” 

They walked along in silence for a moment. Then 
she said something about Calvinism. 

“ But it’s a world-philosophy — Calvinism,” an- 
swered Bram so glibly that somehow it did not ring 
true. 

“ Perhaps it is ; and yet the word doesn’t seem to be 
so immutably fixed a term as the speaker assumed. 
For isn’t there such a thing as neo-Calvinism And 
aren’t the old Calvinists and the Ti^o-Calvinists prac- 
tically at loggerheads.? And anyway, why not look 
into the claims of other isms.? Judging by your inter- 
est in the work at Ellis island I should think you would 
be interested in sociological lines. The City Sociology 
club provides some splendid speakers. One of them, I 
happen to recall now, is the great Dr. Victor of the 
state university. And there are others almost as famous 
as he. Why not ‘ take in ’ a few of these, to vary your 
mental diet? ” 


Cordelia 


141 


A few moments later they were at the gate of Cor- 
delia’s home. 

“ I hope you are not offended at my bluntness,” she 
said, “ because I had an extremely pleasant evening.” 

Bram stammered that he also had enjoyed himself. 
Then Cordelia Elliot said: 

“ Good night, Mr. Meesterling.” 

The way she pronounced the name seemed very beau- 
tiful to Bram. She pronounced the e’s long and not 
like a’s, as all Hollanders do. For a moment he mused 
about this. It loomed up as important. There seemed 
a charm about it that he had never suspected could lurk 
in the mere pronunciation of his name, and gradually it 
came to him that the charm in the odd pronunciation 
was possibly due to a charm in the girl herself. 

As he walked home in the moonlight she seemed to be 
walking by his side. Bit by bit he went over the con- 
versation again. He told her again of Ellis island and 
he heard her comments. He wondered why he had not 
made such and such an answer. It seemed stupid not to 
have thought of this and that. 

“ She must think me fearfully slow,” he soliloquized. 
And it hurt him that she should think so. 

The girl undeniably had charm. She was firmly 
built and she had health; even Bram’s unpracticed eye 
could see that. And he felt that she had health other 
than mere health of body. There was a healthy out- 
look on life in her, to which she had given expression 
in a thousand little ways and acts. There was strength 
there, and the courage to look facts in the face, no 
matter whither the facts might lead her. 

“ But she does not fully understand the religious 
point of view of the Hollanders here. If Oom Bartel 


142 


Bram of the Five Corners 


could have talked to her I imagine he could have con- 
vinced her. But I’m no good at talking,” Bram 
soliloquized. 

He was approaching his uncle’s home and he slack- 
ened his pace. Somehow it seemed good to be out 
under the open sky, the stars shooting out their myriad 
points of light; a thin haze hanging in the distance 
under the moonlight; a light, warm wind stirring up 
a few prematurely dead leaves in the gutter. Bram 
felt the life in his veins. He experienced a strange 
exhilaration, a faith in himself and in the powers that 
were his to shape his life and to make the world bend 
to his will. He doubled his fists and swung his arms 
in the glorious abandon of perfect health. He saw the 
years stretching out before him — the years of hope 
and achievement, the years when he would put all 
the vague dreams and longings of his boyhood and youth 
into action. 

A poet ! Indeed he would be a poet, even though he 
smiled as he recalled the time when he had naively told 
the minister of his ambitions. Dominie Wijnberg had 
been right in believing that some day Bram would change 
his method of expressing the poetic longings within him. 
He would be a poet ; but long since he had learned that 
he had not the gift of metre and word witchery, so he 
would fill his life with the poetry of action. He would 
work and achieve. He would really strive to attain the 
ideals of his youth. 

“ With you to inspire me and to lead me,” he said 
softly, looking up at the stars and thinking of Dominie 
Wijnberg. 

Very slowly he opened the gate and walked under the 
trees in his uncle’s yard. He turned the key in the door 


Cordelia 


143 


of his room reluctantly. Before turning on the light he 
opened the window wide to let the air in and to feel the 
breeze on his hands. He pressed the electric button 
and stepped to the dresser. 

Then he stopped with a start, and a flush of shame 
covered his face. Before him in a little frame on the 
dresser stood the photograph of Hattie Wanhope. 
Bram had completely forgotten her existence ! 

He stood looking at the picture long and intently. 
Her eyes smiled back at him and in her thin, pretty 
face there was no reproach. But that made the sting 
of it all the sharper. She seemed so trusting! While 
he had been walking in the moonlight talking to Cordelia 
Elliot, allowing her charm and her beauty to drive all 
thought of Hattie from his mind, Hattie had sat at 
home — lonesome and disconsolate perhaps — thinking 
of him and planning for their future. 

“ That’s what you did this very evening — I know 
it,” he. whispered to the photograph on the dresser. 
« And I — ” 

A flood of shame and humiliation overwhelmed him, in 
violent reaction against the feeling of exaltation that he 
had experienced a few moments before under the stars. 

And when some time later he had turned out the light 
and lay staring into the darkness there were tears on 
his cheek. 


CHAPTER XII 


ON FIRM GROUND 

W HEN the cut of Dominie Klaas Grootman ap- 
peared on the first page of the Sun, accompanied 
by a “ story ” under a double column head, not even 
the most conservative Hollander in De Stad was sur- 
prised. True, the cuts of the pastors of the city’s 
Dutch churches did not often appear on the first pages 
of any of the newspapers, least of all of the Sun. But 
recently the features of Dominie Grootman had become 
fairly familiar even to those American readers who did 
not know enough about the Hollanders to understand 
that there is a difference between the “ Reformed ” and 
the “ Christian Reformed.” 

Bartel Westerbaan savagely crumpled up the paper 
in his powerful hands and tossed it back of the linen 
counter. 

“ He’s a disgrace to the church,” he cried, “ and if 
his own consistory does not take him to task, I’ll see to 
it that other churches in the classis do.” 

The “ story ” that had aroused Bartel Westerbaan’s 
ire told of a public address which Dominie Grootman 
had given the night before in behalf of woman suffrage. 
In itself an address on suffrage would hardly have landed 
anyone on the first pages even of the more sensational 
journals; but the bitter opposition of the Hollanders to 
woman suffrage made Dominie Grootman’s step some- 
thing of a local sensation, and the man’s importance in 
[ 144 ] 


On Fb'm Ground 


145 


his denomination heightened the sensation. His church 
was one of the largest ; his influence was far-reaching. 

“ It’s a shame, a shame,” said Bartel Westerbaan, 
“ his own consistory should discipline him. But I 
expect Dominie Grootman’s got them under his 
thumb.” 

Bram was interested. Acting on Cordelia Elliot’s 
suggestion he had attended a number of the lectures 
offered by the Sociology Club. And he had stumbled' 
upon lines of thought bearing on the feminist movement 
which had given to that movement another meaning 
than it had ever had for him. 

“ But have you ever stopped to think, Oom Bartel, 
that Dominie Grootman serves a different class of 
people than most of the other Dutch ministers.? The 
women of his church feel the pressure of economic 
conditions more directly. That is probably the reason 
for his attitude.” 

Bartel Westerbaan looked at his nephew searchingly. 

“ Temporal or temporary conditions can have noth- 
ing to do with this question,” he said severely. “ We 
are dealing with eternal truths, and they can never be 
affected by the things of time or the things of this 
world. Woman suffrage and the whole feminist move- 
ment is an offshoot of humanism; and humanism has 
its root in revolution. It all looks very harmless. But 
drive it to its logical conclusion and it means a denial 
of God and his commands. You mustn’t think for one 
moment, my boy, that we are opposing woman suffrage 
merely as woman suffrage. By opposing it we are 
opposing all that militates against everything our faith 
stands for.” 

Again Bram was compelled to wonder at the Intel- 


146 


Bram of the Five Corners 


lectual grasp of his uncle. Bram had caught but a 
glimpse of the vision of a reconstructed and a redeemed 
society as it had been painted by the speakers at the 
Sociology Club, but that had seemed a glimpse down 
an alluring vista — and here in a few words his uncle 
was overthrowing everything the speakers had said. 
That was power, and Bram respected power. 

“ But suppose it should work out right,” he persisted ; 
“ suppose that just for the sake of the argument. The 
claim is made, for instance, that equal suffrage would 
help the cause of temperance.” 

“ Even if it did, what of it? You can’t get a right 
out of a wrong. Woman suffrage is wrong, basically 
wrong, eternally wrong. And all that flows from it is 
wrong. It cannot be otherwise. No one can escape the 
conclusion. All that you need to do is subject it to the 
test of plain logic.” 

Bram started at this word. 

“ It is the same principle as in regard to prohibition,” 
continued Bartel Westerbaan. “ The prohibitionists 
claim they can do away with the drink evil. Suppose 
they can, yet they are all wrong. They would be taking 
away our God-given liberty to use in moderation all 
things that God has made.” 

They talked for a long time. And as they talked 
Bram became more comfortable. There had been doubts 
lately and questionings, but Oom Bartel eloquently 
expounded to him the logic of his faith and the bearing 
of that faith on presentday questions. He easily put 
back everything into its own particular pigeon-hole, 
and the boy felt that the faith he was destined to pro- 
claim to the world was a beautiful structure, a structure 
moreover that was impregnable. It had all been so 


On Firm Ground 


147 


carefully built that it seemed no exigencies could arise 
for which it was not prepared. 

In the course of the discussion Foppe Vanhuis had 
stepped into the store. Foppe was a member of the 
rival Reformed church. He loved an argument even 
better than Bartel. He was often in the habit of 
walking in on the merchant to clinch with him in 
theological combat. He had come now for the sole 
purpose of gloating over the suffrage war in the Chris- 
tian Reformed church, but he was careful not to refer 
to the subject. 

“ The same old sixteenth century ideas all along the 
line,” he said in English, when Bartel brought up the 
subject. He spoke in English because he knew Bartel 
hated that language. But as he continued he returned 
to the Dutch. Foppe made the change as though it was 
in concession to Bartel. This he knew would also make 
Bartel angry ; but Westerbaan did not show his anger. 

“ I should think you people would start a crusade 
against this new pure-marriage business,” said Foppe 
in even tones. “ You are making campaigns against 
almost everything else that is up with the times — 
woman suffrage, labor unions, and such things. So why 
not include pure marriages ? ” 

“ Because that is unnecessary,” answered Bartel 
dryly. “ One of our men has succumbed to woman 
suffrage. But you need have no fear that anyone will 
yield to that marriage nonsense. That’s going a little 
too far.” 

“ But it is claimed that it will be for the betterment 
of the race,” persisted Foppe, who merely affected an 
interest in the subject because he considered it “ up-to- 
date.” 


148 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ Exactly so,” exclaimed Bartel triumphantly. 
“ There is a fine example, Bram, of what I was telling 
you. In all this God is forgotten. Woman suffrage 
claims that it will aid certain causes in good govern- 
ment, and meanwhile it forgets that the whole movement 
is humanistic — that it is basically by man and for man, 
and does not take God into account. This pure-mar- 
riage fad is exactly like it. It claims to be for the 
betterment of the race — mind you, the betterment of 
the race. Nothing is said about God or how he is to 
be taken into account. He it is who creates the human 
soul and who joins man and woman together.” 

Foppe Vanhuis tried to break into the argument but 
Bartel did not give him an opportunity. 

“ Take my own boy Case,” he continued. “ I freely 
admit his condition is God’s judgment on me. The 
worldly man — the humanist — would never admit such 
a thing. He would find some so-called law to explain 
it. I don’t explain it. I hold it wicked to try to 
explain it except that such afflictions are because of sin. 
It is the inscrutable will of God that it shall be so — 
and so it is. But now men are trying artificially to 
improve on God’s work. It is futile not only, it is 
wicked.” 

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Foppe, “there is a great 
deal to be said for all these modern movements.” 

“ But nothing that will stand up against the logic of 
true Calvinistic principles,” answered Bartel Wester- 
baan undisturbed. He knew that in argument he was 
more than a match for Foppe. “ I know that you are 
merely living up to the standards of your church. The 
Reformed people have contracted the disease that is 
weakening American society. You people are anxious 


On Firm Ground 


149 


to be in the swim. We Christian Reformed prefer to 
stick to eternal principles.” 

“ Bram, mijn jongen,'* he said later when Foppe Van- 
huis had left, “ there is a glorious work before you.” 

The massive face of Bartel Westerbaan was almost 
gentle. 

“ New enemies are springing up on all sides, and new 
fallacies have to be battled with constantly. You are 
to be one of the leaders in this war. You are to fight 
the good fight for our Calvinistic doctrine. I flatter 
myself that I have helped you to gain firm ground.” 

And Bram felt that he had indeed won firm ground. 
All the arguments advanced by the speakers at the 
Sociology Club seemed flimsy and futile in the face of 
the impregnable position taken by Bartel Westerbaan. 
All the traditions of his boyhood and youth fought on 
the side of conformity to the norm of the opinions of 
the people of his world. The voices that broke in on 
the calm course of his intellectual and spiritual life 
were feeble and confused; they could not long disturb 
him. 

And he felt that he had gained firm ground in other 
matters than in his intellectual and spiritual life. There 
was no longer any doubt of himself in regard to Hattie. 
The last tears of boyhood had washed that doubt away. 
His brief passionate interest in the intellectual stimula- 
tion that Cordelia Elliot had given he had at first mis- 
taken for disloyalty to Hattie, and there had been a 
bitterness in that thought such as no one could have 
felt who did not possess the sensitiveness of Bram to 
all that is beautiful and pure in the relations between 
man and woman. But he had learned to distinguish. 
Cordelia Elliot was educated, and she was passionately 


150 


Bram of the Five Corners 


in earnest. What could be more natural than that she 
should appeal to his own growing mind.^ But Hattie 
was — well, Hattie was Hattie, he told himself loyally ; 
it was not necessary to say more. 

“ What real man would analyze the qualities of the 
woman he loves ? ” he told himself. 

Her face still had the same fragile beauty that had 
haunted Bram when he had been a mere boy. And in 
no other particular had she changed except that her 
body had grown fuller. Physically Hattie Wanhope 
had reached maturity early, but she was still the same 
artless creature, Bram told himself fondly, that she had 
been when with juice-stained fingers she had pressed the 
berry between his lips. His cheeks even now glowed at 
the thought of it, and again his face tingled as his 
memory went back to the time when she had caressed 
his cheeks lightly with the tips of her fingers. 

“ She is not educated,” he told himself — ‘‘ not edu- 
cated like Cordelia Elliot; and yet education is not 
everything. What right have I to blame her for her 
lack of opportunities.'^ And there will be time for the 
essentials of education later on.” 

And he made up to Hattie in tenderness for the 
imagined wrong he had done her by momentarily for- 
getting her while intoxicated with the charm of the 
intellectual companionship of Cordelia Elliot. Hattie 
straightway misinterpreted his tenderness. She began 
to revive plans and longings that Bram had seemingly 
made her abandon long ago. 

With naive enthusiasm he told her of his plans, and 
rather unreasonably he expected her to enter into the 
spirit of them and to understand them. He told her of 
his vague spiritual doubts and of the complete answer 


On Firm Ground 


151 


Oom Bartel had given to all his questionings, setting 
his doubts at rest once for all. Hattie smiled happily, 
and Bram interpreted her smile as being in sympathy 
with him and in appreciation of the firm ground he had 
found. But earlier in the evening he had kissed her 
with a warmth and a tenderness that had made the girl’s 
heart jump. And she was still busy with the thoughts 
that had arisen in her at the touch of his lips. 

“ You see, Hattie, it is all so beautifully simple, when 
you once get the correct point of view,” Bram was 
explaining. “ All the numerous social questions that 
arise are related. Get hold of the underlying prin- 
ciples, and the questions solve themselves. As it is with 
the feminist movement I was telling you about, so it is 
with all the other questions. They can all be bunched 
together under the general head of the humanistic move- 
ment. And once classified in that way, they are easily 
disposed of, because then they appear naturally in 
antithesis to the great principles to the defense of which 
I am to devote my life. Isn’t it clear and simple ^ ” 

“ Ja, Bram.” Then hesitating a moment — 
“ wouldn’t you like to get married right away ^ ” 

Bram was disconcerted. 

“ It’s such a long time yet — more than three years.” 
She nestled up to him and Bram felt the thrill that he 
always experienced at the touch of her. His being 
responded to the loveliness of her and answered the call 
of the woman. 

“ But what about my work, Hattie — all I have been 
telling you — my plans and hopes, my championship of 
the cause that is specially in need of championship just 
at this time.? ” 

Hattie was silent. She was afraid of Bram, as a 


152 


Bram of the Five Cornet's 


child may be afraid of a grown-up. Yet she was twenty- 
three and Bram was only twenty. She was a child, yet 
Bram often found her childishness rather adorable. 

“ I have to finish my education, Hattie,” he said in 
a kindly tone ; “ I must furnish myself with weapons 
for the struggle.” 

“ But I don’t want to wait that long.” There were 
tears now. 

“ But you must be sensible, Hattie. Even if I should 
do as you say, what would we live on ^ ” 

“ Oh, we could get along. Look how all the others 
get along. Jake Weener ain’t twenty yet and he got 
married last week. Everybody always gets along some 
way. Why can’t we just as well? ” 

Bram looked at Hattie searchingly. And suddenly 
it dawned upon him that all his plans and the hopes 
that he had naively told her of had meant nothing to 
the girl. A sudden chill struck him. He felt abandoned 
and deserted. 

Hattie pouted. She furtively watched Bram’s face 
and she misunderstood the sudden hopelessness that 
appeared there. Then she played what to her appeared 
a strong card. 

“ Roelof Hilsma would marry me tomorrow, if I was 
willin’,” she said. 

Bram did not answer. Her statement seemed almost 
irrelevant. 

“ I’ve been waitin’ all these years an’ years an’ years ; 
and there are more years an’ years cornin’,” she con- 
tinued glibly. “ And I know Roelof would marry me 
right away.” 

The girl had some vague notion of grousing Bram’s 
jealousy. 


On Firm Ground 


153 


“ Don’t talk nonsense, Hattie,” said Bram impa- 
tiently. “ Even if there wasn’t anything else against 
that, he can’t make a living as he is — alone — even 
with the help of his parents.” 

“ We’d get along some way; all the others do,” per- 
sisted the girl, still under the vague impression that she 
was playing a feminine game. 

But her aim was wide of the mark. To be jealous 
of Roelof seemed so preposterous that it never even 
occurred to Bram. 

“ Not much of the instinct to provide beforehand,” 
thought the boy. But then, what else could be expected 
of a girl who had been brought up in a family such as 
hers. She had never been trained, he told himself, and 
he saw his own task becoming bigger ; but he welcomed 
it. He felt strength surging up in him, and he was 
eager to prove that he would be a match for all that 
life would bring him. 

That Hattie’s trouble went deeper than a mere lack 
of training never occurred to Bram. This thought in 
fact could hardly have occurred to him. It was one of 
the fallacies to the combatting of which he was pledged 
to devote his life. This placing of the responsibility 
far back — two or three or four or five generations 
removed — what else was it but a denial of the direct 
intervention of God in the lives of men? Oom Bartel 
had vaguely included it in the humanistic tendencies 
when he had made light of what he called the pure- 
marriage fad. 

Discovering that she had completely failed, Hattie 
yielded to the inevitable and set to work to gain what 
comfort she could from the pleasure of the moment. 
Before Bram left she was giggling hysterically. 


154 


Bram of the Five Corners 


Hattie’s attempt to play off Roelof Hilsma against 
Bram was not entirely the result of pure invention on 
her part. Roelof had thrown the idea in her way a 
few days before ; and she quite simply made use of the 
weapon that lay nearest her hand. 

Roelof was one of a numerous family. Though past 
thirty, he had never learned the knack of providing 
for himself, so much so that he was pointed out at the 
Five Corners as shiftless. He was fond of going to 
De Stad to discuss politics and religion; preferably 
religion, with the logicians he might meet in Bartel 
Westerbaan’s store. His brothers often protested, 
urging the necessity of his bearing his share of the 
family’s burdens on the farm. For a time after each 
protest Roelof made a show of doing his part, but the 
eternal lure of an argument in De Stad always drew 
him away. A relapse always came, no matter what 
efforts were put forth to keep him at work. He returned 
to an argument as a drunkard returns to a saloon, irre- 
sistibly drawn. 

But there was for Roelof one attraction at the Five 
Comers stronger than the lure of De Stad. His broth- 
ers often laughed at him ; but Roelof was not to be dis- 
couraged. 

« Tryin’ to cut out Bram Meesterling,” sneered Joe; 
“ you’ve got to learn for dominie if you want to do 
that.” 

“ I know what it is,” broke in the other youngster 
with a laugh; “Roelof is after Hattie Wanhope’s 
money. Wants to inherit her fortune! What do you 
call ’em — I saw it in the paper the other day — 
Tiairess? That’s it, Roelof bebeves in marryin’ a 
hair ess! ” 


On Firm Ground 


155 


This sally was so successful and it seemed so excru- 
ciatingly funny to the brothers, that Roelof was com- 
pelled to take refuge away from home. He left them 
to remember ruefully that their humor had cheated them 
out of his continued help on the farm for the day. 

As usual Roelof found balm for his wounded feelings 
at Chris Wahhope’s. He did not go there to argue; 
he knew Chris could not argue. The conversation was 
comparatively insipid to Roelof ; but at least it was 
better than prosaic labor at home. And Chris, though 
mentally incapable of maintaining any connected argu- 
ment and though not posted on theology, was not at 
all averse to conversation of any kind. It gave him an 
excuse for resting from his labors. 

At lunch time Hattie brought her father coffee and 
bread and cheese. Usually she protested against this 
constantly recurring duty, but this forenoon she had 
urged her patient mother to hurry in getting the lunch 
ready. Chris hospitably handed the tin pail to Roelof. 
The latter helped himself generously; the coffee trick- 
ling down his chin caught in the beard of a week’s 
growth. 

Later he walked home with Hattie ; with the familiar- 
ity of the country the two indulged in the clumsy 
badinage of the community. Hattie giggled gener- 
ously at the sallies of Roelof, and the bachelor felt that 
he was a wit of the first order. He pinched her arm in 
appreciation of her appreciation, and Hattie screamed 
with uncontrollable laughter. 

Suddenly becoming bolder, while the two were stand- 
ing in the deep shade of the large maple tree that 
screened them from view of the field where Hattie’s 
father was trying to make up his mind to resume his 


156 


Bram of the Five Corners 


work, Roelof slipped his arm about the girl. Almost 
instinctively her body yielded. And Roelof, with a 
thrill of wild triumph, kissed her on the lips. 

Nor yet then did Hattie withdraw. It was very 
sweet to be in a man’s arms, and she merely drank in 
the glory of the moment. But finally, with an effort, 
she compelled herself to break away from him; and she 
simulated anger rather successfully. 

But when Roelof had left the farm she giggled softly 
to herself. 


CHAPTER Xm 


A FLASH OF LIGHT 

B RAM came to the supper table whistling. Oom 
Bartel looked up disapprovingly. There remained 
a certain levity about his nephew that he could not 
understand and that he could not reconcile with the 
fact that Bram was to begin his work in theology the 
following year. 

“ I’m going up to hear Dr. Victor tonight,” said 
Bram. 

“ You are going to hear Dr. Victor ” Oom Bartel’s 
tone was charged with incredulity. 

“ Yes, Oom, his subject rather appeals to me, and 
I want to get his point of view.” 

“ But surely, Bram, Het Gereformeerde Weekhlad has 
exhausted that subject — ” 

‘‘ But that’s exactly why I want to go and hear Vic- 
tor. I am curious to hear how much of a case he can 
make out. Now is exactly the time for me to go — 
now that I am well fortified.” 

“ But, Bram, there is always danger; it is like play- 
ing with fire.” 

“ There is no harm in playing with fire if proper 
precautions are taken,” was the way Bram met his 
uncle’s figure. “ I am on firm ground at last, uncle. 
I can now afford to get the other man’s point of view. 
You told me the other day I am to be a soldier in the 
erreat conflict — a leader. If I am to be that I cannot 
[ 167 ] 


158 


Bram of the Five Corners 


ignore the enemy. I must face him and learn all about 
him and his positions.” 

Oom Bartel shook his head. But he had eaten a 
heavy meal and he did not feel equal to a dispute. He 
hunted out his favorite meerschaum pipe, filled his 
tobacco box with a generous supply of “ Rob Roy,” 
and prepared for a quiet evening of text hunting for 
an article for Het Weekblad. 

Bram did not tell Oom Bartel his real reason for 
going. He did not confess that it was at the sugges- 
tion of Cordelia Elliot. The conversation had taken 
place a few days before. 

“ You are going to hear Dr. Victor, of course,” she 
said. 

“ Well, no — you see — I — ” stammered Bram. 

“Afraid of heresy.^ ” she smiled. 

Her smile was a challenge. It stung Bram. It made 
him indignant with something, he did not know what. 

“ Prof. Mellema has been declaiming against him,” 
she continued, the same gently ironic smile still playing 
about her eyes ; “ said it was a disgrace to the state 
that its university keeps such a man, a man with his 
revolutionary ideas.” 

“ Yes, I heard Mellema’s talk,” admitted Bram. He 
said it shamefacedly. And straightway he blamed him- 
self for being apologetic. After all, Mellema and all he 
stood for needed no apology. 

“Well, why shouldn’t Mellema say what he said.^ ” 
B ram’s attempt to stand up on his “firm ground ” 
seemed a little absurd to himself. 

“No reason whatever,” said Cordelia. But the twin- 
kle in her beautiful eyes provoked Bram, and strangely 
the anger was directed against himself. 


A Flash of Light 


159 


“ This Dr. Victor is dangerous — with those revolu- 
tionary ideas of his,” he asserted vehemently. 

“ He’s the greatest man alive in this state today,” 
Cordelia asserted just as vehemently. 

They indulged in a half friendly, half serious quarrel. 
Cordelia showed the same spirit she had shown on the 
way home from the lecture. 

“ But you haven’t our point of view,” Bram defended. 

“ But even with your point of view there is no need 
of chloroforming yourselves, ^nd so becoming immune 
to new ideas.” 

Bram did not answer this. How could Cordelia be 
expected to understand And it would be hopeless to 
try to make her see the impregnable structure that his 
uncle’s logic had reared for him — a structure more- 
over that, instead of barring new ideas, included every- 
thing, new as well as old. But he did not venture to 
mention the word “ logic ” to Cordelia, he remembered 
her scorn. 

“ What is he to speak about ? ” he asked by way of 
changing the subject. 

“ The Child Who Never Grows Up,'' 

It was Bram’s turn to smile ironically. 

‘‘ A bit frivolous, don’t you think ” he asked. 

She flamed out at him, his smile too much for her. 

“ Frivolous ! frivolous ! ” she cried. ‘‘ I heard him 
give it in Chicago — in the Auditorium — five thousand 
people looking up at him. And do you know whom he 
reminded me of ” 

Bram smiled interrogatively. 

“ My mental image of the Apostle Paul ! ” 

And she saw with satisfaction that there was some- 
thing like terror in his eyes. 


160 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ He is an Apostle,” she said vehemently — ‘‘a mod- 
ern apostle, preaching a new social gospel. He preaches 
that gospel with a fervor that can be described only as 
spiritual fury. He has seen a vision and he is eager to 
make others see it. He is eager to translate this vision 
into human action — to make a beginning so that the 
children of the generations to come may call the 
fathers and mothers of the present blessed.” 

Cordelia was excited. She was carried away by her 
theme. She had set out to shock Bram, and her enthusi- 
asm had run away with her. 

“ This race betterment is humanistic,” Bram wanted 
to say. But he did not have the courage; he feared 
her scorn. 

“ Oh, it makes me furious to hear a narrow little man 
like Mellema malign a great man like Dr. Victor ! ” she 
exclaimed — “ this little dried up scholar denouncing a 
man of vision and imagination who would give his 
heart’s blood for the welfare of his fellowmen.” 

Bram knew that he ought to answer, “ But he would 
not be doing it for the glory of God — humanistic 
don’t you see? ” But again his courage failed him. 

Cordelia’s face changed. There dawned in it again 
the sympathy and gentle interest in him that had often 
thrilled Bram. 

“ I thought at least you would be open-minded,” she 
said softly. Bram flushed. There was almost a caress 
in the words. 

“ But I have learned to understand things better 
lately,” he stammered. 

“ And yet your Ellis island minister would never have 
closed his mind,” she persisted. 

Bram started. ‘‘ That’s true,” he thought. 


A Flash of Light 


161 


Cordelia laughed as she picked up her books. 

“ Here we have been actually quarrelling,” she said. 
“ I have been talking as if I had everything at stake in 
your going to hear Dr. Victor. It was Mellema’s talk, 
I suppose. He aroused me so, and I hated to think 
that he could influence even you, Mr. Meesterling.” 

Bram flushed again. And he knew now that he would 
go to hear Dr. Victor. He told himself it was not 
because of what Cordelia Elliot had said. He would 
go fearlessly; he would let the enemy do his worst; he 
was on firm ground; he welcomed the opportunity to 
test himself. He would listen to all that the great scien- 
tist had to say for himself. Then he would go home 
and demolish the arguments one by one. 

He reminds me of the Apostle Paul,” Cordelia had 
said. Bram repeated the words to himself as he left 
the lecture hall. He had sighed audibly when the great 
scientist had ceased to speak. He had risen mechan- 
ically and he had realized with a shock of surprise that 
there were others in the hall. 

“ Like the Apostle Paul ! ” he whispered, and there 
was awe in his eyes. His mind went back over the 
familiar Bible story — the road to Damascus, the flash 
of blinding light, the voice from heaven, the slayer of 
the saints falling on his face in an abandon of anguish. 
He was not thinking of the lecture. He was not think- 
ing of the modem apostle. That would come later. 
For the moment he was mentally blinded by a tre- 
mendous flash of sudden insight. He could not yet 
think of what it would all mean to him. He could only 
grope about helplessly, and the phrase of Cordelia’s 
brought back the Bible story, familiar since childhood. 


162 


Bram of the Five Corners 


He did not yet know that a great light had fallen 
upon him. He did not yet know that gradually his 
eyes would be opened. Some stirrings there were in his 
mind of what was to be born in him, some vague and 
undefined fears, some half-formed suspicion that the 
lecture would mean to him much more than an academic 
discussion on feeble-mindedness. But he fought against 
the thought. And for the time being he succeeded in 
stifling the voices that were awakening in his heart. 

“ It’s nothing short of disloyalty to he told 

himself often in the days that followed, “ and I’m not 
going to think of it again — not going to think of it 
again — not going to think of it again.” 

He kept on repeating the words mechanically, while 
his mind with diabolical treachery was going over the 
same proscribed ground. 

The days passed and Bram was very silent. 

Oom Bartel found him reading Ibsen’s Ghosts. 
Bram sat staring in front of him, the book face down- 
ward on his knee. 

“ Bram ! ” The word was charged with reproach. 

Bram did not answer. 

“ I should think you would know better than to be 
reading a play.'' Oom Bartel had taken up the little 
volume. The “ make-up ” of the book told him its 
classification. 

“ Always you’re keeping me in hot water,” continued 
his uncle querulously when Bram did not answer. “ I 
was just congratulating myself that you were taking 
my lessons to heart. Your conduct has been more dig- 
nified lately and in keeping with your position. And 
now it’s a play ! ” 

“ I was only thinking, uncle.” 


A Flash of Light 


163 


“ Zoo! So that’s it — thinking! ” scornfully. 

Bram did not answer. His mind was occupied with 
the problem in Ghosts. 

“ And what do you find in there that makes you sit 
there like a dummy ? ” asked Bartel impatiently point- 
ing to the volume. 

“ I don’t know, Oom Bartel, that’s what I am trying 
to find out. I am not sure that I understand Ibsen. 
If he means what I think he means, then it’s horrible.” 

“ Of course it’s horrible. And not only that, it’s 
wicked. I believe in calling things by their right names. 
If you were my son I should forbid you to read plays, 
but all I can do is advise. Your mother is too easy.” 

“ But uncle — ” 

‘‘ No ‘ but ’ about it. You are about to enter the- 
ology, and you should be getting acquainted with the 
church fathers and their writings. It’s high time that 
you should take up something that has real pith to it. 
It’s all frivolity these days.” 

“ I would hardly call Ghosts frivolous,” defended 
Bram. 

“ What else could it be ? It’s a play, isn’t it ? ” 

Bram did not answer. He still had a deep respect 
for his uncle’s intellectual attainments, but lately he 
had discovered that there were some things that Oom 
Bartel did not know. 

The next time Bram heard Hattie giggle he was 
annoyed. And he was ashamed of himself for being 
annoyed. For weeks he had been propounding prob- 
lems to himself and attempting to answer them. He 
v/as not in a mood for mirth, and, what is more, Hattie 
was about a trifle, as usual. But Bram 

repressed the impulse to call her attention to this. 


164 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ I’m upset,” he thought, ‘‘ and everything looks 
more serious to me than it really is.” 

Bram had lost his foothold, and that just at the time 
when he had thought he had gained firm ground. Dur- 
ing all these weeks he had been slipping, and sometimes 
it had been agony. 

Hattie giggled even more than usual, and B ram’s 
efforts to control himself became desperate. 

‘‘ Mentally she never growls beyond sweet sixteen,” 
had been one of Dr. Victor’s ways of describing “ the 
child who never grows up,” and the sentence now flashed 
into Bram’s mind. But he banished the thought sternly. 
He dug his finger tips into his cheeks until the pain 
told him to desist. And he compelled himself to speak 
calmly. 

Hattie noticed his preoccupation, and instinctively 
she tried to drive it away with light-hearted chatter. 
She was boisterous. She talked so loud that Bram 
shuddered. 

And apropos of nothing — she had sat for a moment 
in complete silence — she burst out into a fit of uncon- 
trollable giggling again. Bram was desperate, he could 
control himself no longer, and he burst out harshly : 

“ For goodness sake, Hattie, what are you always 
giggling about ? I should think you would control your- 
self a little more.” 

And straightway, as soon as he had said the words, 
he was ashamed. 

“ I’m unstrung tonight, Hattie, and I lost my grip 
on myself.” 

But Hattie had not been hurt by the reproof. Her 
giggling subsided. 

“ Why, Bram, I can’t help it. Whenever I think of 


A Flash of Light 


165 


somethin’ real funny, I just simply have to laugh or 
die. You should have known me when I was a little 
girl!” 

And again she giggled as though there was something 
extremely funny in the thought of Bram knowing her 
as a little girl. “ Why, I laughed so sometimes that 
it made me faint.” 

“ Made you faint I ” There was tragedy in Bram’s 
voice. He had been reading so persistently the last 
few weeks along the lines suggested by Dr. Victor’s 
lecture that his sense of proportion was lost. 

said Hattie, “just fainted away sometimes.” 

“ Oh, God ! ” cried Bram. 

“ Bram, Bram ! you swearin’ — you! ” Hattie for- 
got her laughter, and her eyes became big as a child’s. 

And she did not understand why Bram got up to go 
home. Nor could he tell her. What he wanted most of 
all now was time to think. He must take stock. 

Finally he took his trouble to his mother ; in a round- 
about way however. He directed the talk to the sub- 
ject of his father, and when he finally asked the question, 
“ Father was very strong? ” it seemed to have sprung 
naturally out of the subject. 

And Vrouw Meesterling divined somehow that he 
meant other than physical strength. 

“ Ja, mijn jongen” 

Bram sat silent for a few moments pondering. 

“ And his father before him was strong? ” he con- 
tinued ; “ I mean now in the body also — real muscle 
and bone? ” 

Vrouw Meesterling nodded. She did not know what 
Bram was driving at. 

“ And you were always strong and well — and — 


166 


Bram of the Five Corners 


and — well, never hysterical and light-headed?” Bram 
was off his guard now. He had begun in a roundabout 
way, but in his eagerness he became direct. 

Vrouw Meesterling broke into a ripple of laughter. 

“What have you been thinkin’ of, Bram? So silent 
and gloomy all week, and now this ? ” she asked smil- 
ingly. 

“ Nothing, mother.” He realized now how absurd 
the questions must seem to her, but he hurried on — 
“ And grandfather, I mean your father, was always 
strong and well and hard-headed? ” 

“ He was very much like you, Bram, almost as much 
as your own father was like you.” 

Bram saw an opening for a more direct question. 

“ And suppose they had not been what they were, 
and you and father had not been what you were, do you 
think I would have been what I am? Suppose they, or 
some of them, had been weak-minded, let us say? ” 

Even as he spoke he felt the absurdity of asking such 
a question of his mother. But he must speak to some- 
one. 

“ Heden, Bram ! What a queer thing to ask ! ” 

Then thinking she understood, she smiled fondly. 

“ It’s them college studies,” she told herself. College 
studies were full of wonderful mystery for Vrouw Mees- 
terling. “ He’s tryin’ out something on me and testin’ 
how little I know.” 

“ But, mother,” he persisted, “ what if it had been 
that way? ” 

“ But it was God’s will, Bram, that you should be 
strong and good; and I don’t see how it could make 
any difference, even if your father and grandfather had 
not been what they were.” 


A Flash of Light 


167 


Bram desisted. He could not ask the question that 
came to his lips. “ But was it really because of God’s 
will.? ” His mother would not have understood, and he 
did not dare to utter the question in words, even to 
himself. 

Bram dared not discuss the subject with Oom Bartel. 
It seemed too personal. He knew that Case was the 
apple of his uncle’s eye, and he dared not seem to refer 
to his cousin’s case. It had always been a marvel to 
Bram how a man of Bartel’s intellectual vigor could 
be attached with any more than ties of duty to the 
mental blank who happened to be his son. It was a 
wholly unreasoning attachment, an instinctive clinging 
— something transcending logic. How could Bram ven- 
ture even a suggestion about a law of heredity, without 
seeming to say at the same time, What about this son 
you have brought into the world? ” 

But Bartel Westerbaan himself introduced the sub- 
ject. 

“ Bram, your mother has been telling me about the 
queer questions you have been putting to her. It’s this 
lecture, I suppose, that you insisted on hearing. I’ve 
been reading about it in the papers. This Dr. Victor 
is all wrong, of course. You need hardly be told that.” 

“ Yes — I — suppose so — that is — ” stammered 
Bram embarrassed ; “ but suppose, Oom Bartel, sup- 
pose — only for the sake of the argument — suppose 
there should be such a thing as a merttal taint, should 
a man and a woman — have they a right to marry ? ” 

And Bram blushed. He had never before even inti- 
mated to his uncle that he knew the meaning of the 
word sex. 

He looked out through the window and saw Case 


168 


Bram of the Five Corners 


industriously picking up straws and stray leaves from 
the wide lawn, the while talking to himself incoherently, 
an eternal half-grin on his face. , Often as he stooped 
down saliva overflowed from his mouth. And each time 
he wiped it away imperfectly from his chin with his 
sleeve. Case put all the passion of the bit of soul that 
was his into collecting these stray straws ; but straight- 
way he forgot what he had been about and dropped 
them on the lawn again. 

“ It’s foolish to suppose any such thing,” said Bartel 
dogmatically. “ How can anyone tell whether God will 
afflict a child or children with a mental taint or not? 
To say anything of that kind is positively sacrilegious. 
All you need to do is to go back to your primer cate- 
chism book: ‘Who created you?’ and the answer is, 
‘ God.’ If it were not so what would I have to think 
of Case over there? ” 

Bram felt guilty, even though he had not introduced 
the subject, and a wave of shame overwhelmed him. 

“ I beg your pardon, uncle,” he said. And the sub- 
ject was closed. 

But when Dr. Straatman came to cure a cold Case 
had contracted, Bram discussed the matter with him. 
Bartel Westerbaan had always spent large sums of 
money on Case. There was hardly one of the physi- 
cians of De Stad who had not been called in from time 
to time. Every little ailment was given the most scru- 
pulous and most expert medical care. There was in 
the back of the merchant’s mind eternally a hope that 
some day some doctor might stumble upon a cure that 
would ^put a mind where now there was hardly more 
than a blank. During recent months he had often 
called in Dr. Straatman. 


A Flash of Light 


169 


“ His principles I don’t agree with,” he had often 
told Bram, “ or rather what he considers principles. 
He is an evolutionist, and he is a follower of all the 
other present-day fallacies. But he knows medicine.” 

It was perhaps this warning of his uncle that impelled 
Bram to broach to the doctor the subject that was 
uppermost in his mind. 

“ Nothing serious, I suppose,” he said, by way of 
opening the conversation, while Dr. Straatman was mix- 
ing medicine. 

“ A cold, that’s all. He’ll be himself again in a few 
days.” 

Case grinned at the two men from the bed where his 
father, solicitous for his health, had insisted he should 
stay. Then he seemed vaguely troubled, as though 
searching for something. 

“ Better blow your nose. Case,” said Dr. Straatman 
in kindly tone, handing him his handkerchief which had 
fallen to the floor. A great happiness dawned in the 
face of Case. And grinning he articulated the words, 
“ Ja, with a fair degree of clearness. Then he made 
only a partly successful attempt to act on the advice. 

“ Never any chance of his becoming normal.'’ ” con- 
tinued Bram, trying to lead up to the subject. 

“ Not the slightest. He was born that way. Sup- 
pose a man were bom without arms ; they would never 
grow on later.” 

“ Uncle is deeply attached to him. He has never 
admitted it, but I feel sure he is waiting for some med- 
ical miracle to cure him.” 

“ They always are deeply attached to them,” said 
the doctor. “ Seems to be nature’s provision to pro- 
tect the weak. But it has always seemed to me as 


170 


Bram of the Five Corners 


though they could have shown their attachment better 
by not bringing them into the world.” 

The physician spoke with a bitterness that surprised 
Bram. 

“ But how could they know .? ” 

“ Here we have one of those near-ministers,” thought 
the doctor ; “ it won’t do him any harm to get shocked 
once in his life.” 

“ They could know if they wanted to — many of 
them could,” he said brutally. “ You are a student of 
the Bible perhaps. There is that passage about hav- 
ing eyes and seeing not. Your uncle, for instance, had 
no business to bring this boy into the world. He could 
have known.” 

“ Here I lose a patient,” thought the doctor ; “ but 
I’m not going to keep still. I’m going to call my soul 
my own. Anyway, he started the subject.” 

“You heard Dr. Victor.?” asked Bram timidly, to 
keep the conversation going somehow. 

“ I should hope I did. You have heard him refuted 
by this time, I suppose,” sarcastically. 

“ I heard his lecture,” said Bram simply. The doc- 
tor looked at him in surprise. 

“ You were saying my uncle could have known,” 
prompted Bram presently. 

“ Are you really interested in this subject? It actu- 
ally means something to you, this problem of feeble- 
mindedness ? ” There was a new note of interest in the 
physician’s voice. 

“ I know practically nothing about it ; I’m rather 
ignorant, I fear.” 

Dr. Straatman sat down upon the edge of the table. 
His face was now alight with interest. 


A Flash of Light 


171 


“ You never knew your aunt, did you, Mr. Meester- 
ling — of course not, you were hardly more than a baby 
when she died.” 

“ You mean? ” asked Bram in low-voiced surprise. 

“ Yes, she,” replied the doctor, nodding toward the 
bed where Case sat back against the pillows, grinning 
at the men. 

“ But uncle has never so much as mentioned that to 
me ; nor has my mother who was fairly intimate with her. 
I have always gathered from her that Aunt Mary was 
quite a lovable woman.” 

“ Your mother probably did not know. Your uncle 
should have known, but he does not realize it even now. 
I dare say he looks upon your cousin as arbitrarily 
foisted upon him to punish him somehow for his youth- 
ful lapse.” 

« Lapse?” 

It was the doctor’s turn to look surprised. Also he 
was plainly embarrassed. 

‘‘ It is very unprofessional for me to speak this way 
— almost like old women’s gossip. I don’t know how 
we got to talking like this. I did not remember for the 
moment that this ancient history I am digging up may 
be new to you, but the harm’s done; anyway, it’s of 
secondary importance. You see, Meesterling, your 
uncle didn’t quite live up to the conventions when he 
was a young man, so his marriage was a little hasty.” 

Bram blushed as he caught the other’s meaning. 
Also the revelation was so sudden and so crushing that 
he could not at once identify the man the doctor was 
speaking of with his uncle. 

“ But all that is of secondary importance,” continued 
Dr. Straatman. “ I suppose your uncle still looks upon 


172 


Bram of the Five Corners 


that lapse as the great sin of his life. I know a Dutch 
conscience; I’m Dutch myself. And I suppose he has 
never given a thought to what his wife’s mother was, 
though of course he knew. And if he had gone further 
back he might have learned still other facts that have 
a bearing on your cousin on the bed there. But he 
was caught by a girlish look of innocence and a pretty 
face. I knew your aunt when she was led to the altar.” 

Dr. Straatman was again compelled to pick the hand- 
kerchief from the floor and hand it to Case. 

“ This is all new to me,” said Bram. “ You mean 
she was subnormal.? ” 

‘‘ Not glaringly so. It was easy for your uncle to 
make a mistake, although her mother’s case should have 
warned him. She was a moron, which, as you remem- 
ber from Dr. Victor’s lecture, is a term applied to a 
person who is lacking in judgment and good sense — 
who, in short, is feeble-minded. The female moron, 
especially when of high grade and in early womanhood, 
is often very attractive. Look here, Meesterling, you 
heard Victor. Do you remember his picture of the high- 
grade moron? Well, that hit off your aunt exactly. A 
high type moron, yet below normal. She never really 
grew up mentally. I interested myself in the situation 
at the time ; was here when Case was born. I went back 
into the records of her family, and I can tell you that it 
looked like a eugenist’s map of a family history with 
three fourths of the dots black.” 

‘‘ Insanity? ” 

“ Yes, and weak-mindedness, and various other forms 
of the abnormal.” 

‘‘ And you mean to say he was inevitable ? ” pointing 
to his cousin on the bed. 


A Flash of Light 


173 


“ Absolutely, or at least so much so that the chances 
in his favor were almost negligible.” 

Dr. Straatman did not see that Bram blanched. 
When the physician had left, the boy could not bear 
to remain in the room. The grinning human organism 
on the bed horrified him. He rushed from the house 
almost in a panic. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE ENCROACHING SHADOW 

T he weeks passed and Bram gradually began to 
recover from the shock that Dr. Straatman’s reve- 
lation had given him. After the first few days, when 
what he had considered firm ground was crumbling 
under his feet, his common sense came to his rescue. 
After all, why let himself be stampeded.^ Dr. Victor 
had made a tremendous impression on him, an impres- 
sion that had been blinding, and this impression Bram’s 
subsequent reading and Dr. Straatman’s revelation had 
only served to accentuate. But the hopes and beliefs 
of a decade grounded in inheritance and training are 
not to be overthrown in a moment. 

Even his uneasiness about Hattie was becoming less 
acute. It seemed a bit ridiculous now that he should 
have seen any resemblance between the portrait of the 
child who never grows up that Dr. Victor had painted 
and the woman he was to marry. His imagination had 
been playing him tricks. He remembered how Dr. 
Chasers Home Remedies^ on which his mother relied in 
most of the family’s illnesses, used to affect him when as 
a boy he had read it for want of anything better to read. 
All the symptoms of all the diseases described had 
always been his ; often he had turned cold v/ith the fear 
of immediate death, and he had not outgrown this habit. 
He could never read the biography of a great man with- 
out identifying himself with the character and without 
[ 174 ] 


The Encroaching Shadow 


175 


feeling himself possessed of the mental and moral traits 
described in the book. 

“ That’s it, of course,” he thought. “ I was carried 
away by him and I imagined all sorts of things. My 
old habit. Dragged Hattie right into it. I’ll have to 
watch myself a bit closer.” 

As for Dr. Straatman’s revelations about Aunt 
Mary, it was sad, no doubt. But Bram could not 
understand now why the mindless organism of his cousin 
Case had filled him with horror. It had been quite a 
personal horror. It had seemed that there was an inti- 
mate, organic relationship between him and the idiot. 
But that was past now ; and Bram smiled good-naturedly 
whenever he saw Case industriously picking up straws 
on the lawn. 

The glamor of the romance of life was fast returning. 
The inexorableness of law that Dr. Victor had insisted 
on — no doubt it existed, but Bram felt that it could 
not apply in his case. 

“ Is not that after all the way the world lives on ? ” 
he asked himself — “ men and women instinctively 
choose their mates. They do not bother about under- 
lying laws, and they are not kept back by the fear of 
them. They simply love; and the issue of that love is 
new life. That is how the world lives on.” 

And in this state of mind Bram might have remained 
if it had not been for an occurrence that, but for Dr. 
Victor and Dr. Straatman, he would not have been able 
to interpret. 

It was midnight and the moonlight was streaming 
through Bram’s window. Something was knocking at 
the gates of his sleep and calling him back to conscious- 
ness. It was only the creaking of a door but it ham- 


176 


Bram of the Five Corners 


mered and knocked with a million voices. The sleeper 
stirred uneasily and with his arm he made a motion as 
though to ward off something. But he did not wake. 
The noise only served to shake his subconscious mental 
life into activity, and a horrible dream of an octopus 
winding its tentacles about his throat suddenly made 
him shriek. 

Simultaneously the dream merged into reality, and 
the shriek was as much the result of physical pain as 
of dream-horror. Bram felt himself choke, clammy 
fingers dug into the tender fiesh of his throat, and as 
his eyes opened he saw over him in the bright moon- 
light the grinning face of his cousin. 

Bram acted with the unthinking reflex of horror. 
From where he lay he struck, aiming full at the face 
of the idiot. He struck as he might have struck blindly 
at a murderer, putting all the force behind that blow 
that his position on the bed would allow. He struck 
as he would have shot had a gun been in his hand — 
to kill. It was the eternal instinct of self-defense that 
drove him blindly, unreasoningly. Case’s fingers lost 
their hold. He staggered back and sagged to the floor 
in a limp heap. 

Bram was out of bed in a moment, bending over the 
huddled form on the floor. At the same moment Bartel 
rushed into the room and switched on the light. 

It had all taken but a few seconds. The shriek of 
Bram had aroused Bartel. Without a question and 
without a word he lifted Case on to the tumbled bed 
and applied a sheet to the bleeding face. 

Case was not seriously hurt, not as seriously in fact 
as Bram. Bartel made no comment. Bram had acted 
purely in self-defense, and his uncle could find nothing 


The Encroaching Shadow 


177 


to base an accusation on ; but something in his bearing 
told Bram that the father did blame him for striking 
the idiot son he loved. It was unreasoning and unrea- 
sonable, this feeling on the part of Bartel, but it was 
there nevertheless. 

Bram did not sleep that night. He dared not turn 
out the light. He locked and barricaded his door and 
sat on the edge of his bed, sobs shaking him. The 
horror of that experience could not be thrown off. 

And at the heel of that horror came another. What 
Dr. Victor and Dr. Straatman had said persisted in 
coming back to haunt him. He tried to pull himself 
together, and he told himself out loud that it was 
absurd; but his nerves had been shaken too much for 
logical thought. 

“ She was a high-grade moron — my aunt,” he said, 
“ and she was Case’s mother.” 

It was because his uncle had not known, or had 
refused to see, that this mindless body, whose fingers he 
had felt about his throat, had been brought into the 
world. 

Bram shuddered. Though he struggled against it, 
his mind persisted in returning to Dr. Victor’s picture 
of the undeveloped child. He refused to think of it, 
but it kept on knocking on the door of his mjnd. And 
a more terrible knocking it was to Bram than the 
menacing knocking at the gate was to Macbeth when 
the blood of Duncan was still wet on his sword. 

But with the morning light came some relief. 

“ Of course, I’ve been exaggerating,” he said. The 
cases of Hattie and my aunt must be entirely different. 
What right have I to assume that Hattie belongs to 
the class that never grows up? ” 


178 


Bram of the Five Corners 


He charged himself with disloyalty again, and he 
blamed himself for letting his imagination create hor- 
rors that did not exist. 

Dr. Straatman shook his head when he was called in 
to see Case. 

‘‘ Probably means the beginning of some physical 
illness,” he said. 

The weeks passed and the horror of his experience 
was gradually leaving Bram. He was beginning to be 
ashamed of the thoughts he had had during that ter- 
rible night. 

“ I was hysterical,” he told himself. “ Coming as it 
did when my mind was full of what Dr. Victor and 
Dr. Straatman had said, it is natural that I should 
imagine all kinds of impossible things.” 

He lulled his fears to sleep and his sense of loyalty 
toward Hattie prevented him from so much as thinking 
about them. It was only now and then that uneasiness 
forced itself upon him. He resolved not to read any 
more books along the line suggested by the scientists, 
and he resolved never to listen to another lecture on 
the subject. He was afraid of himself, and he did not 
again put himself in the way of a discussion with Dr. 
Straatman, although the physician came often to treat 
Case for the illness that had come as he had predicted. 

It was only when he thought of Chris Wanhope that 
Bram could no longer entirely stifle his fears. The 
name “ Crazy Chris ” was not reassuring. The people 
of the Five Corners were divided on what the term 
meant, and Bram had always accepted the opinion that 
of course it meant that Chris was merely somewhat 
eccentric. 


The Encroaching Shadow 


179 


“ That means nothing,” he told himself. “ Many a 
great man is eccentric. That proves nothing as to a 
man’s mental condition. Chris is merely eccentric. If 
he were educated no one would think anything of it. 
And the same thing is true of Hattie; she appears to 
a disadvantage merely because she is not educated. 
But I’ll remedy that some day — some day.” 

The difference of opinion of the Five Corners on the 
subject of the eccentricity of Chris Wanhope was well 
illustrated in the case of Berend and Vrouw Poppema. 
Berend tenaciously held to the opinion that it was 
eccentricity and nothing else; or, rather, he called it 
plain, unalloyed laziness. Vrouw Poppema was an 
enthusiastic advocate of the belief that Chris was “ not 
quite right in the head.” 

There was plenty of evidence to prove Chris’s lazi- 
ness, and in an argument Berend often won the 
laurels. But Vrouw Poppema did not allow herself to be 
silenced. She treasured a number of “ queer ” things 
Chris had done during his residence at the Five Cor- 
ners, and these she cited judiciously but triumphantly 
whenever Berend became too strong for her. And of 
all the “ queer ” incidents there was one that always 
silenced Berend at least for the time being. It was so 
very strong because Berend himself had furnished his 
wife with it. 

It had happened a year or two back. 

“ Berend was passing by what ‘ Crazy Chris ’ calls 
his barn,” is the way Vrouw Poppema usually described 
it to others. “ He heard so much noise and squealin’ 
that he thought some one was gettin’ murdered. He 
jumped over the fence and ran into the barn. And 
what do you think Chris was doin’ ^ ” 


180 


Bram of the Five Corners 


And after a breathless pause she would answer her 
own question. 

“ Shavin’ a hog ! ja, think of it, shavin’ a plain, 
everyday hog ! ” 

And Vrouw Poppema would laugh loud and long. It 
was the most excruciatingly funny incident she had ever 
encountered. It was impossible to control herself in 
telling the story, which she always did with consider- 
able detail. 

“ Joy ja, he had the hog tied down good and tight so 
the poor beast could not move. And he had soaped 
him and was shavin’ off the bristles. The squealin’ made 
Berend go over to see what was the matter. And it 
was a sight ! ” 

Again Vrouw Poppema would break forth into imcon- 
trollable laughter. 

“ And he says to Berend as how it was the devil what 
was after him. It was mol, mal, mal, every word he 
said ! ” 

There was no laughter however in Vrouw Poppema’s 
voice when she pronounced the dread name of the devil. 
She always spoke it in a near-whisper, charged with 
awe. 

“ But who ever heard of such a thing? ” she would 
conclude her story ; “ if you don’t call that crazy I’d 
like to know what you would call it.” 

But Bram had discounted this tale from the first. 
He had made due allowance for Vrouw Poppema’s 
desire to play up her argument. Probably she had 
exaggerated a great deal. Probably the incident could 
be satisfactorily explained. 

However he never had had the courage to attempt to 
get an explanation. 


The Encroaching Shadow 


181 


But a month or two after his experience with his 
cousin Case the explanation forced itself upon him in 
the shape of Chris himself coming to the back door of 
Vrouw Meesterling’s house. It was a Saturday night 
and Bram was at home. He was working late and he 
went to the door wondering who could be calling at 
that hour. He blanched suddenly when the bewildered 
face of Chris Wanhope appeared in the doorway. 

Chris poured out a hysterical tale of fear. Some- 
thing was menacing him, and he looked at Bram wild- 
eyed and appealingly. Bram gathered after a time that 
Chris was being pursued by the devil, and later he made 
out that Chris was obsessed with the idea that the 
full moon was in league with the dread pursuer. 

Hastily awakening Anton and Wilm, Bram called 
them into consultation. The three of them accompanied 
Chris back to his home, Chris insisting on one walking 
on each side of him and one behind him. In this man- 
ner they marched along the highway. Relieved from 
the obsession of his fear, Chris appeared as normal as 
usual. He talked enthusiastically of his plans for next 
year and even laughed a little. 

But Bram was far from laughter. That short walk 
was to haunt him for a long time to come. The hor- 
rible face of Case obtruded itself again, and all Bram’s 
fears, so carefully laid, came back. 

Oom Bartel might have known. Dr. Straatman had 
said. He might have avoided passing on the abnormal- 
ity of the generations of the past. Case might have 
been prevented. 

Bram shuddered. What would Dr. Straatman say 
about him, and what would Dr. Victor say if he could 
see the father of the woman Bram was to marry slouch- 


182 


Bram of the Five Corners 


ing along the country road escorted by three men and 
defended by them against an imaginary devil? 

“ But she can’t help it,” he reassured himself the 
next day on his way to see Hattie. “ It was my imag- 
ination that identified her with the high-grade moron 
Dr. Victor described — pure imagination. There really 
is no basis for it. Anyway, that’s more than likely all 
theory, this talk about inherited tendencies. What do 
they know about it after all ? ” 

The conceptions slowly gathered during the years 
of boyhood and young manhood were not to be swept 
away in a moment, all the more so because on his retain- 
ing a hold on these conceptions depended the peace of 
mind and the happiness of himself and Hattie. 

But at the Wanhope farm a shock awaited him that 
for the time being dwarfed even the terrible experience 
with Case in his room. 

Before going to the house he stepped into the barn 
to learn if Chris had recovered from the obsession of 
the night before. He opened the door and recoiled in 
horror. Chris Wanhope was hanging from a low cross- 
beam, a length of rope noosed crudely about his neck ! 
His feet touched the floor and his body sagged fon\'ard 
limply. 

With a bound Bram was by the man’s side. He 
clawed at the rope desperately, supporting the body 
with one arm and thus relieving the strain on the cord. 
Chris’s clumsiness in making the noose aided Bram. 
And it also saved the life of Chris. He was still 
breathing when Bram finally laid him down carefully 
on a heap of straw. Some cold water brought him to. 

“ He was after me again,” murmured Chris as he 
opened his eyes. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE LAW OF LIFE 

B RAM himself never knew clearly what steps he 
went through to get to the office of Dr. Victor 
at the university. He was under a cloud of such 
intense mental anguish that he lived in a daze. He felt 
that the greatest crisis of his young life was upon him. 
He grasped wildly at anything that might help him in 
his trouble. Without a thought of the strangeness 
of the course, he rushed off to the university, a hundred 
miles away. He had never met the great scientist ; but 
a drowning man does not ask for a formal introduction 
to the swimmer near him in the water, he clutches him 
unceremoniously in a death-grip. And Bram found 
himself in the waiting-room of Dr. Victor’s office before 
he realized fully what he was about. 

Yes, Dr. Victor was in, but had Mr. — begging his 
pardon, but what was the name? oh, yes, Meesterling 
(the e’s pronounced long) — had Mr. Meesterling made 
an appointment? Sorry, but Dr. Victor could not see 
anyone except by appointment. He was a very busy 
man, Mr. Meesterling must remember — a very busy 
man. Did Mr. Meesterling wish to arrange for a meet- 
ing? It could probably be arranged for some day 
next week! 

Bram was in despair, and he could not explain his 
case to the office girl. He stood there inarticulate. 
The girl nervously began to finger the keys of her type- 
writer to escape the disconcerting stare of the man. 

[ 183 ] 


184 


Bram> of the Five Corners 


Dr. Victor came upon this tableau as he opened the 
door of his private office and stepped into the waiting- 
room, hat in hand, ready to go out. A hasty glance 
at the girl disclosed her embarrassment, and the scientist 
had a momentary feeling that it would perhaps be 
necessary to throw somebody out of the building. He 
was about to demand gruffiy what the visitor wanted 
when he discovered the anguish on the boy’s face. 
Great scientist though he was. Dr. Victor was not first 
of all a scientist. It was his passion for giving himself 
to causes he believed in that was the secret of his real 
power. It had revealed to him many a secret of life 
and human conduct that the laws of science could never 
have disclosed. And he read something in the face of 
Bram Meesterling that the office girl had been incapable 
of seeing. 

“ You came to see me? ” he said softly. “ I think 
you had better step into the private office.” 

He held open the door, and Bram passed in without 
a word. 

“ Well, young man,” began Dr. Victor with hearty 
cheerfulness, “what is it that’s troubling you?” He 
supposed Bram a university student. 

But a horrible timidity and embarrassment had again 
seized upon Bram. He stammeringly brought out some 
words, the meaning of which Dr. Victor did not catch. 

“ There is no need to be excited or upset ; I have 
plenty of time — all the time you can possibly need.” 

There was reassurance and kindliness and a deep 
understanding of the trouble in the lives of others in 
that voice. Also the remark that he had plenty of time 
was hardly true. 

“ You spoke in our city,” began Bram, taking 


The Law of Life 


185 


courage, ‘‘ and that’s why I came — in February, you 
remember.” 

Dr. Victor looked at the boy with renewed interest. 

“ And you came all this distance to see me.^ ” 

“ Yes,” said Bram simply; “ I felt I had to see you.” 

He could not know how he thrilled the famous scien- 
tist. So often men and women had shaken him admir- 
ingly by the hand after an address into which he had 
put apostolic zeal and had straightway forgotten what 
he had said, that this timid young student, irresistibly 
drawn to him by the power of his new social gospel, 
was like a breath of clear mountain air to his soul. 

“ It is what you said about the girl who mentally 
never grows up,” explained Bram more easily ; “ you 
seemed to know so much about her. And I have to 
know. I’ve got to be sure. I cannot bear the thought 
of making the irreparable mistake that you spoke of in 
your lecture. It would mean that all the hopes and 
ambitions I have dreamed of since I was a mere boy 
would be vain and useless.” 

Bram spoke with passionate earnestness, and Dr. 
Victor was stirred. He saw immediately that this was 
no ordinary case of a student coming to him for advice 
in a trifling matter. 

“ Let us talk it over leisurely, Mr. Meesterling,” he 
said. And curiously, in spite of his agitation, Bram 
noticed that Dr. Victor also pronounced his name as 
the office girl had pronounced it. 

“ My lecture was your first introduction to this 
subject.?^ ” 

“ No, not exactly. You see, I came to your lecture 
believing you must be all wrong. I came determined 
merely to get the point of view of the other side.” 


186 


Bram of the Five Corners 


He briefly explained what it was that was troubling 
him. Dr. Victor comprehended so quickly and he was 
so ready with understanding and sympathy that Bram’s 
task was much easier than he had anticipated. 

“ But there is something I haven’t told you,” Bram 
added, “ which probably you ought to know if you are 
to advise me. I told you that I couldn’t bear to see all 
my hopes and ambitions rendered useless.” 

“I imderstand, my boy,” interrupted Dr. Victor; 
“ you have ideals.” 

“ Oh, but it’s much more than that. It isn’t only my 
ideals and my hopes, but I have to live up to the expecta- 
tions of another. I — ” 

He hesitated, embarrassed. 

“Your mother.?” asked Dr. Victor softly, with the 
deep understanding of a man who feels as well as thinks. 

“ Yes, but that is not what I started out to say. 
Perhaps you will think it absurd.” 

“No fact can be too trivial in a case of this kind.” 

“ You see, years ago, when I was hardly more than 
a child, there was a minister who made his home in my 
mother’s house. All the hopes and all the ambitions I 
have ever had are due to him. And whenever I have been 
in difficulty the thought of him has always steadied me. 
He expected me to be a real man; to do my share in 
the work of the world; to make it a little happier if 
possible ; to help the world to climb, I remember, is the 
way he put it. He died young, and he looked upon his 
own life as a failure. But though I was only a boy 
then, I know now that his last years were somewhat 
brighter than they would have been if he had not be- 
lieved that something of what he had hoped to do would 
be done by me. He never definitely charged me to do 


The Law of Life 


187 


this or that ; merely expected that I would not be found 
wanting when the time should come. And I simply 
cannot disappoint him, Dr. Victor. You don’t thinlc 
this merely a ridiculous notion ? ” 

‘‘ Not at all, not at all. This, I think, has given me 
a complete understanding of your difficulty. And I 
want to tell you, Mr. Meesterling, that because of it I 
would rather help you to solve your problem than gain 
any honor you might name.” 

Bram looked down in self-conscious embarrassment. 

“ And I feel sure that your minister, if he could 
know you now, would not be disappointed.” 

They talked for a long time, Bram trying as best he 
could to give the scientist a clear picture of his life at 
the Five Corners and in De Stad. 

“ And one more question,” said the professor ; “ you 
love this young woman ” 

Bram flushed. His old inarticulateness in the pres- 
ence of intimate personal questions mastered him. 

“Yes — ” he said uncertainly, after a pause. Then 
seeing that his confusion might be misinterpreted, he 
added : 

“ Do not misunderstand me. I have never loved any- 
one else. I have known her since I was a mere boy, and 
we have been — well — betrothed for a number of 
years. It has always seemed as though she was for 
me and I for her; as though there could not possibly 
be anything else in either of our lives. It has all be- 
come so matter of course that really your question 
rather startled me. Yes, Dr. Victor, I love her. It 
would be foolish to say anything to qualify this state- 
ment. You want all the facts.” 

“ That makes it harder. I believe, Mr. Meesterling, 


188 


Bram of the Five Corners 


you will be called upon to prove yourself a real man. 
From what you have told me I think there is little doubt 
but that the young woman’s father has been definitely 
feeble-minded always. It was not until it developed 
into definite insanity that it was recognized. Her 
mother also seems below normal. Even if you had not 
told me a word about the girl herself, I would know 
that the chances are enormously against her. And all 
you have told me bears this out. She is young and 
pretty, and you have not measured her by the same 
standards by which you measure others. You fell in 
love with her when she was a young girl — still near 
the period when her mental development was not as far 
behind as it seems to be now. I suspect, Mr. Meester- 
ling, that she is literally a little girl and that she will 
never grow up.” 

Dr. Victor looked into the boy’s eyes, and there was 
pity in his voice when he continued: 

“ I am not attaching any blame to her, my boy. It 
is a tragedy of which she is the victim. The ancients 
would have called it Fate. But I can’t advise you any 
other way than I do. I have seen so many tragedies 
— so many lives broken — so many children born whom 
the parents had no right to bring into the world, that 
I do not dare speak differently. Hardly ever does 
anyone come to me before it is too late. And judging 
from the rapid increase in feeble-mindedness and in- 
sanity it seems that seldom does anyone give this thing 
any thought until it is too late.” 

Bram did not answer. Dr. Victor sat musing a 
moment before he continued: 

“ The ancients called it Fate when an idiot was bom 
into the world. And we have not advanced much. We 


The Law of Life 


189 


blame feeble-mindedness and insanity to God. We say 
that in his inscrutable wisdom he has seen fit to visit 
this affliction upon us.” 

Bram looked up startled. This idea was so much a 
part of his inmost consciousness, it had been so familiar 
to him ever since he had thought on subjects of this 
kind at all; moreover, it was a view so commonly 
accepted by all who had hitherto peopled Bram’s world, 
that he felt as though the scientist was reading his 
thoughts. 

“ Do you mean. Dr. Victor, that I will have to throw 
away everything I have been taught to believe ? ” 

“ I don’t mean that at all. I suppose I did not 
express myself clearly. That is exactly what I do not 
mean. I do not know what your particular religious 
beliefs are, and it makes very little difference, as far as 
this point goes, but to me the conception of a God of 
that kind has always been repulsive — a God who 
arbitrarily strikes this one with insanity and that one 
with feeble-mindedness and another with epilepsy. Is 
it not a much finer conception to think of the law of 
life and the law of God as the same.? This conception 
need not lessen our respect for this supreme power; 
rather it should increase it. The law of life is there, 
whatever may be the power that enacted that law. Some 
of us call it God; others have another name for it. 
And when this law is disobeyed, we suffer, and our 
children suffer; especially our children and our chil- 
dren’s children. That is the tragedy of it.” 

The scientist absent-mindedly tapped his desk with 
his pencil. There was a look in his eyes that recalled 
to Bram’s mind Dominie W’ijnberg when the minister 
was thinking of the future and its possibilities. 


190 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ But we have begun to learn to know better this law 
of life which is also the law of God. Mendel and Galton 
were the men who first began to analyze it and to 
formulate the principles on which it is immutably based, 
and a number of scientists since that day have added 
their mites toward making the definition clearer. It is 
because of this that we can with confidence advise such 
as you who are on the point of clashing with the law. 
It is because of this that we can tell with almost mathe- 
matical precision what can be expected. It can be 
predicted as definitely as anything can be predicted 
that the man who marries a feeble-minded woman or 
the woman who marries a feeble-minded man will bring 
a curse upon the children. And they contribute toward 
retarding the development of a better and a stronger 
race of men. May I add that for such a man to pray 
for the coming of the Kingdom of God seems sacrilege 
to me.^ ” 

Bram answered not a word. He was torn by so many 
confusing thoughts that he could think of nothing to 
say. He needed time to think ; he needed an opportunity 
to take stock. 

There was no question about the deep earnestness of 
Dr. Victor — an almost reverent earnestness. Bram 
had always vaguely thought of science as on the side 
of the enemy. It was science that was always spoken 
of as a foe to religion. And here was Dr. Victor, noted 
scientist, denounced often as a man of revolutionary 
ideas, giving Bram a conception of God in one respect 
more beautiful and essentially finer than the conception 
of God he had always held. He remembered how, when 
Dominie Wijnberg had read to him the third chapter of 
Genesis, he had formed a picture of “ the Lord God ” as 


The Law of Life 


191 


a figure of divine proportions. And he had a feeling 
that since that day the God of his imagination had be- 
come smaller and meaner. Dr. Victor’s portrayal of the 
Deity was for him like a return to something that he 
“ had loved long since and lost a while.” 

When on his return he told Hattie she giggled ! 

He had expected tears and anger and perhaps 
vituperation. But she did not understand. And it 
came to Bram all at once that she could never be made 
to understand. And swiftly he resolved not to try. 
He recoiled from inflicting pain on the girl. He had 
loved her many years. 

Hattie treated the remark about breaking the engage- 
ment as a joke. And it was long before Bram could 
convince her he was in earnest. Very gently and very 
quietly, avoiding everything that might seem like self- 
pity, he told her of his resolve. He had intended to 
make a clean breast of all and to let her face the 
situation openly. But in a flash it had been revealed to 
him that that would be useless ; that because of the curse 
that found its inception in the generations of the past 
and that had come to her as a sinister heritage, she 
was incapable of ever rising above herself. He under- 
stood now, after weeks of brooding, that she had no 
fighting chance to escape her curse, any more than the 
hopeless imbecile has a fighting chance to escape his 
curse. A quart measure can never be educated to hold 
a bushel. Her brain was her brain, and her soul was 
her soul. Somewhere in the slow generations of the 
past her fathers had transgressed the law of life, which 
is also the law of God. Tragedy? Yes, but fact. Who 
has not felt it as he looked into the dull and meaningless 


192 


Bram of the Five Corners 


eyes of the idiot, he thought. It is only of those in 
the twilight zone between normality and abnormality 
that we do not see and do not understand. And the 
fool, be he ever so religious, saith in his heart, “ There 
is no law of life.” And God looks down upon his chil- 
dren in infinite pity, knowing that in the slow course of 
the years they will learn to understand, knowing the 
future is bright with promise for the human family ! 

“You are mistaken, Hattie,” said Bram; “there is 
no one else. I shall never marry. My life belongs to 
you, even though I can never be to you what we have 
planned all these years. I promise you solemnly I shall 
never marry if it will help you to remain as you are.” 

He said no more, because it was useless. Hattie was 
skimming over the surface. There was another girl; 
he had grown tired of her; she was not educated. She 
was humble now; she was willing to wait till Bram 
should be ready to take her. He could do with her 
what he liked; she would trust herself entirely to him. 
He was a man and he knew so much more than she. 
There was no longer anger and despair. Only a be- 
wildered sorrow. Her body passionately desired him, 
and she clung to him as a child might cling to a father 
who threatens to abandon it in a wilderness. 

And Bram in pity took all the blame. He tried to 
leave the impression that it was through fault of his 
that their lives would have to remain apart. 

But this had no effect on Hattie. She was willing 
to take him, no matter what the obstacle might be. She 
was willing to overlook everything, bury the dead past 
from sight. She did not and could not know that for 
those who transgress the law of life ghosts rise at the 
feast to torment them, and that there is no escape. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE CLASH OF IDEALS 

T he next day was Saturday, and Bram was at home 
alone with his mother. Anton and Wilm had gone 
to an auction seven miles away to buy a cow. 

“ Wouldn’t you like to have Hattie over for dinner, 
Bram.^ ” asked Vrouw Meesterling when her son was 
eating his breakfast. Anton and Wilm had left before 
daylight, and she had waited her own breakfast for 
the sake of the pleasure of eating with Bram. 

“Hattie.^” Bram looked up suspiciously. Vrouw 
Meesterling did not know that she was pouring vinegar 
into a wound. 

“ I thought it might be nice, seein’ we are alone 
today, to have her here, too.” 

But Bram did not enthusiastically jump at the pro- 
posal. He sat silent, looking at his plate. Even before 
his mother had made the suggestion he had merely 
made a pretense at eating. 

“ You see, Bram, mijn jongeriy*' continued Vrouw 
Meesterling, “ after three years now she is to be my 
daughter, and I feel that I hardly know her. You 
bein’ away at school all the time, she has not been here 
much. She is at Vrouw Poppema’s a great deal more 
than she is here.” 

Bram noticed with amazement that there was a touch 
of jealousy in his mother’s voice. But instantly her 
tone became soft and tender as she said: 

[ 193 ] 


194 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ I am glad, Bram, that you are to marry one of our 
own girls. When you was still a small boy I was a little 
afraid to have you go to college, because I didn’t know 
what might come of it. So often when a boy goes to 
college he marries one of them city girls — one of them 
English girls — and I ain’t brought up to that. But 
Hattie Wanhope is one I can feel at home with. I wish 
she would come oftener.” 

Bram did not answer. He hoped it might be unneces- 
sary to answer. All at once he saw a new tragedy 
following in the wake of what he had done last night. 
And he dimly perceived that there were still other 
tragedies to follow. It came to him with a shock that 
this was not something between Hattie and himself 
only. 

‘‘You don’t like her to come here this noon? ” ven- 
tured his mother after a little. 

Confronted with the direct question Bram looked up. 

“ No, mother.” His voice was so low that she had 
difficulty catching the words. “Not this noon; not 
yet.” 

Vrouw Meesterling looked at her son in surprise. 
Also she felt hurt ; but she was not first of all thinking 
of herself. 

Silence fell between them — painful silence, the air 
charged with a nameless fear. Vrouw Meesterling looked 
pale and careworn. Dr. Baas of the Five Comers had 
been unable to do anything for her, and on Bram’s 
suggestion she had consulted a physician in De Stad. 
But because he also had been powerless and because 
her consulting him had created a mild scandal at the 
Five Comers, she had gone back to Dr. Baas. “ The 
idea of Dr. Baas not bein’ good enough ! ” Vrouw 


The Clash of Ideals 


195 


Poppema had indignantly exclaimed ; “ and her son 
learnin’ for dominie! Seems to me he would know 
enough to tell her to put her trust in God, what can 
bless the medicine of Dr. Baas just as good as of the 
high-tone doctors in De Stad.” 

Bram forgot his own troubles as he sat looking across 
the table at his pale-faced mother, upon whom pain 
had been setting its mark for many months. Her life 
had not been an easy one and she had been “ acquainted 
with grief.” But she had always met trouble with a 
smile. Ever since Bram could remember anything he 
had loved every wrinkle on her homely face. And now 
those wrinkles were passing through a transformation 
as the face was becoming more and more emaciated. 
She was hiding her pain bravely, and Bram groaned 
because he must add to her sorrows. But it was in- 
evitable. He hoped he might make the blow less cruel 
by telling her himself. 

He pushed his plate away, though breakfast was not 
half over. He rested his arms on the table on the space 
thus cleared. 

I am not going to marry Hattie, mother.” 

Even as he said the words he saw his mother in- 
voluntarily shrink from him. A deeper pallor over- 
spread her tired face. 

At ten o’clock that forenoon the two still sat facing 
each other across the breakfast table. The food, hardly 
touched, now cold and uninviting, stood as it had stood 
when Bram began his story — the grease hardened on 
the platter, little slices of bacon sticking out. During 
those three hours a brightness had gone out of the 
lives of these two — a something that had been very 
precious and very beautiful. 


196 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ But, Bram, what you are doing can never be made 
right,” Vrouw Meesterling was saying for the fiftieth 
time. 

“ But, mother, I had to choose between two wrongs, 
and I chose the lesser,” Bram again patiently repeated. 
Oh, if he could only make his mother understand! For 
the moment it seemed to him that nothing else would 
matter. “ I can bear to wreck my own life, as I am 
doing now, but I don’t dare to wreck the lives of little 
children. Mother, don’t you see — won’t you try to 
understand that it is a matter of conscience with me 
and that I cannot act any other way.^^ ” 

“ You forget, mijn jongeriy that all that is in the 
hand of God.” 

Her voice was soft and patient. She was fighting for 
long cherished ideals — doing battle for herself and 
for her dead lover who lived again in a very special 
way in Bram. Years ago wonder had dawned in her 
eyes when for the first time in her imagination she had 
seen Bram, grown into a man, standing in the pulpit, 
dominating her world. The picture had remained with 
her through the years. Rather than lose it she would , 
have given her life. And now is was being threatened 
by the hand of Bram himself. 

“ You are to be a minister, Bram, and I know what 
kind of a minister your father would have had you be. 
When he made a promise he kept it; he would have 
died rather than not live up to it. His example is 
worth following.” 

“ I am not worth mentioning in the same breath with 
him,” answered the boy in utter self-abasing mood. 

“ You are not, Bram, if you keep on with this,” said 
his mother; and even Bram never knew the agony the 


The Clash of Ideals 


197 


words cost her. There was silence for a moment. Then 
Bram returned to the struggle. 

“ But, mother — 

“ I know what you are going to say,” she interrupted 
gently — “ all this about Hattie bein’ not quite right 
in her mind, and about her gettin’ it from her father, 
and the danger of her children havin’ it, too. I have 
never been to college, Bram, and I don’t know nothing 
about the laws you are talkin’ about, but my father and 
mother believed in a God, and I believe in a God. 
And, Bram, your father believed in a God — a God who 
is all powerful and all wise. He may give us children 
who are simple, or he may give us children who are a 
comfort, as you have been, mijn jongen. It is not for 
us to say, and not for us to think about. All we need 
to know is that he is all wise and all powerful. Never 
forget, Bram, your father believed that.” 

Vrouw Meesterling spoke with a homely eloquence 
that could not help but stir Bram. He would have given 
his life to be able to drive trouble from her face. But 
he was beginning to feel that it was hopeless to try 
to make her understand. 

“ And yet, mother,” he said helplessly, ‘‘ I believe that 
if father could know all the circumstances as I know 
them he would do as I have done.” 

Bram saw horror slowly creeping into his mother’s 
homely, wrinkled face. But she controlled herself ; she 
tried to keep hardness out of her voice. 

“ Never say that again, Bram — please never say 
that again.” 

“ At least you don’t believe that I am deliberately 
throwing her over because of another,” he said after 
a painful silence* 


198 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ I could never believe that of you, Bram. What 
you are doing I know you think is right. But it ain’t 
right; it can never be right.” 

“ It might not have been right in your youth, 
mother,” said Bram, still trying very gently to make 
his mother understand his point of view. “ But since 
that time the world has advanced. We know some 
things now that we did not know at that time. And 
if we do not act on that knowledge we would be unworthy 
of the bigger conception of God and the imiverse that 
we have.” 

Vrouw Meesterling shook her head. Bram became 
eloquent. 

“ Mother, the race of man must be considered. Each 
one of us must live as though he has the welfare of that 
race in his individual keeping. There is still so much 
ignorance, so much carelessness on this subject that 
those who have learned something from modern science 
must act on that knowledge, or that knowledge will 
never have a chance. Even as it is it has but half a 
chance. Idiocy and insanity and feeble-mindedness are 
increasing fast in this very state. That is shown by 
all the statistics on the subject. I do not dare do other- 
wise, mother. I am doing the very best I know how.” 

“ I know it, Bram, mijn jongen,^* said Vrouw Meester- 
ling. She had arisen and had come over to his chair. 
Her voice was soft and low and tender, and she laid her 
bony, work-stained hand on the head of her boy as 
she had frequently done when he was still a lad. There 
were tears in her tired eyes. Although she disagreed 
absolutely and unqualifiedly with Bram, her feeling 
toward him had not clianged a mite. 

“ But you can never make a wrong a right. This 


The Clash of Ideals 


199 


what you are doing was a wrong when I was a girl — 
your father would have considered it such, and that is 
enough for me. No matter what they may have learned 
in colleges, God has not changed. He is the same as 
he was thirty years ago. You have said a great deal 
this morning that I don’t understand. I am not so 
wise as you, Bram, but I am not goin’ to live much 
longer, and — ” 

“ Mother ! ” protested Bram. 

‘‘ — and when I meet your father again I want to 
feel sure that I have done the best I know how.” 

She turned her face away; and Bram, still sitting 
at the breakfast table, nestled his cheek against the 
faded calico dress his mother was wearing. He had 
never been demonstrative toward her. But now he drew 
her head down and passionately kissed her on the thin 
lips. 

“ I too want to meet him — and you — some day, 
mother, and then I want to feel that I have done what 
I thought was right.” 

His voice trembled. How he longed to bring back' the 
smile to his mother’s face by assuring her he would do 
as she wished! He was tempted once or twice. But 
Dominie Wijnberg had wanted him to be a man ! 

Bartel Westerbaan received the news of what Bram 
had done in quite another spirit than Vrouw Meester- 
ling. Oom Bartel was still engaged in a journalistic 
debate about “ Woman Suffrage from a Calvinistic 
Standpoint.” His opponent was a supporter of Dominie 
Grootman, and each time an article by this writer ap- 
peared Bartel read it contemptuously ; then he savagely 
crushed the paper into a ball in his powerful hands. 


200 


Bram of the Five Corners 


He was in the middle of a peppery communication 
to Het Gereformeerde Weekhlad when Bram entered the 
room. Bartel had finally annihilated his opponent, there 
was no question about it. His article was absolutely 
unanswerable — “ unless the discussion should depart 
from Calvinistic principles,” he added mentally, “ and in 
that case no debate is possible at all.” Life was a 
sweet morsel in the man’s mouth just then. But as 
soon as he saw his nephew his face darkened. Bram’s 
story had preceded him; the Five Comers had taken 
care of that. 

“ Zoo! ” grunted Bartel Westerbaan harshl}^, and 
Bram knew what was coming. 

“ It is easy enough to put down others who err,” he 
continued, “ but when those of one’s own household go 
wrong it is worse. An illustration of the passage, I 
take it, that a man’s enemies shall be those of his own 
household.” 

Involuntarily the shadow of a smile stole to his mas- 
sive face at this happy application of a scriptural 
passage. He made a mental note that it could be used 
in a future article for Het Weekhlad, but having made 
this more or less philosophical observation, he came 
to the point. 

“ I have been hearing things, Bram, that make me 
tremble for your faith. It is only a short time ago 
that I told you many a man has been shipwrecked in 
that way, and his career cut short.” 

The fear of domestic entanglement was an obsession 
with Bartel Westerbaan. His own experience had caused 
him to see the lives of all others in relation to it. 

‘‘ You remember how I warned you against this 
Elliot girl. You knew your own mind then; but it 


The Clash of Ideals 


201 


seems that you would have done better if you had 
heeded my warning.” 

“ She has nothing whatever to do with this,” defended 
Bram wearily. He was in no mood for argument, espe- 
cially on this subject. 

“ The heart of man is treacherous,” observed Bartel 
with a knowing air, as though he, because of his great 
knowledge of life and human nature, could safely smile 
at the boy’s self-deception. 

“ It is not anything like you think, nevertheless,” 
replied Bram. “ I can’t help what you may imagine.” 

He spoke with an air of one who closes a discussion. 
But closing the discussion was the last thing Bartel 
Westerbaan wanted. He could always extract very real 
joy out of any argument, no matter how distasteful the 
sub j ect. 

“ I know you don’t think so,” he said hastily, to head 
the boy off, “ but I know a little more about life than 
you can possibly know.” 

“ Good heavens, uncle,” cried Bram, losing control of 
his temper, do you think I am going through all this 
merely for an ordinary flirtation.^ ” 

“ And I’d like to know what else it could be.^ ” Again 
Bartel Westerbaan was thinking of his own case of 
twenty-five years ago. 

Because he loved his mother Bram had been passion- 
ately anxious that she should understand his motives ; 
and because he respected his uncle, knowing as he did 
the man’s devotion to his particular beliefs and his very 
real ability in defending these beliefs, Bram was also 
anxious that Oom Bartel should understand him. It was 
for that reason that he explained carefully, in great 
detail, step by step, how he had arrived at the given 


202 


Brain of the Five Corners 


conclusion, and what his motives had been for taking 
the action he had taken. Bartel Westerbaan inter- 
rupted him frequently with objections, whenever he saw 
an opportunity to oppose what he called Calvinistic 
principles to Bram’s theories. But Bram brooked no 
interruption. He overrode all his uncle’s objections. 
He stated his case firmly and with a conviction that 
was almost as surefooted as that of Bartel Westerbaan 
himself. 

When he finished Bartel shook his head vigorously. 
He stroked his smooth-shaven cheeks contemplatively 
for a moment. 

‘‘ And after all these years,” he said with apparent 
sadness, “ after all these years in which I have been 
trying to give you the foundation principles, you are 
bowled over at the first attack of the enemy! Bram, 
I had counted on you for more stability than that.” 

Bram attempted no defense. 

“ Humanism, pure and simple. Can’t you see that, 
Bram? It is so plain that I should think even a child 
could not be deceived by it. Sometimes the enemy is 
insidious, but in this case there was no sheep’s clothing. 
The wolf came out in the open. What is this whole 
theory of race betterment? It is plain humanism. It 
is by mcm^ for man. A better race, a better world, a 
better society. Don’t you see, man in the centrum of it 
all? He is the middle point from which it all issues. 
God is left out of the reckoning. It is the old, old 
struggle of humanism against Calvinism. And with 
you it seems humanism has won.” 

Bram adduced what proof he had gathered from his 
reading the past few weeks that the law of life is in- 
exorable and cannot be escaped; and he yentured the 


The Clash of Ideals 


203 


remark made by Dr. Victor that the law of life is also 
the law of God. 

Oom Bartel snorted. 

“ No, sir, no such thing.” He imconsciously assumed 
the attitude of the formal debater. “ The law of God 
is the law of God, and no science or anything else can 
ever change it a jot or a tittle. With God there is 
neither change nor shadow of turning.” 

“ But might there not be such a thing as science dis- 
covering new meaning in that law of God.^ ” Bram 
ventured, still respectfully. 

“ And by so doing take away God’s omnipotence. 
Let us assume that Hattie Wanhope is feeble-minded 
— in an almost imperceptible way, but yet feeble- 
minded, just for the sake of the argument. By refus- 
ing to marry her you are in effect declaring that you 
have lost faith in the power of God. Your science tells 
you that your children will be feeble-minded, probably 
idiots. And you accept the findings of science and refuse 
to bring these children into the world. But God could 
give you and Hattie children who would be a blessing 
to all mankind; while he can give an idiot to parents 
who are perfectly normal and whose ancestors have been 
perfectly normal for centuries back. We have all fallen 
in Adam and we must all bear the load of sin, and no 
science can ever alter in the least degree these great 
theological principles. It is more important, Bram, 
than you seem to realize. Your very faith depends on 
this. It is infinitely worse than if you had jilted Hattie 
for some other girl.” 

“ But the investigators are not dealing with theories 
only. If they were, I could never be justified in what 
I have done. But there are facts to be considered,” 


204 


Bram of the Five Corners 


And Bram recited to Bartel Westerbaan the histories 
of families that have been traced for a century or more 

— a stream of feeble-mindedness or criminality or im- 
morality running all the way and finding its source some- 
where in a criminal or feeble-minded or grossly immoral 
ancestor. 

“ These cases were not made to fit a theory, everj^ 
statement can be absolutely verified. Even in theology 
a hypothesis finally becomes a law when the proof is 
overwhelming. And, Oom Bartel, wuth me it is not a 
matter of theories and laws, but a matter of human 
misery. I must attempt at least to live up to the ideals 
of my life. If I should not do that there would be no 
life possible for me. Even though you could convince 
me that I am committing a wrong, it would still be a 
case of choosing between wrongs. I believe in this law 

— this law of life.” 

Bartel Westerbaan hesitated for a moment. Then 
he made a decision. 

“ Bram,” he said, and he plainly spoke with an effort 
now, “ I have never told you why I did not go into the 
ministry.” 

Bram waited, fearful of what would follow. Bartel 
pulled himself together. 

“ I fell into sin with a woman,” he said. “ Yes, 
Bram, this is hard for me to confess but I do it for your 
good. It was she — your aunt — we fell into sin. I 
was young and weak — and I fell into sin.” 

Bram was afraid his uncle would guess he already 
knew the story. But Bartel Westerbaan was too much 
agitated to notice his nephew’s silence. 

“ I transgressed the Seventh Commandment, and God 
has punished me for it. I was not permitted to enter 


The Clash of Ideals 


205 


the promised land of the ministry and — there is Case.” 

Bram was silent. 

“ And that is what is needed,” continued Bartel more 
firmly because he was coming back to generalities ; “ we 
must put things in their right places. That boy is my 
punishment, and I take him as such — my punishment 
for transgressing the Seventh Commandment. God 
might have punished me in some other way. But he 
saw fit to do it through Case.” 

He was silent for a moment. Then he returned to 
the attack. 

“ And what do you say to the Proceedings of the 
Synod of Middleburg? You remember it is only a 
short time ago that I showed you what its decision was ; 
I showed you from an article in Het Weekblad. The 
breaking of an engagement is and remains a sin against 
the Seventh Commandment. Never forget that. The 
Synod of Middleburg holds — here it is in the files — 
Proceedings of the Synod of Middleburg in 1581 — it 
holds that an engagement may not be broken even if 
both parties should consent to it. You are committing 
a sin, even though all you say should be true.” 

Bram did not answer. He forgot that his uncle was 
in the room. He was thinking of what Dominie Wijn- 
berg would have said under similar circumstances. 
Possibly Dominie Wijnberg had never heard of the 
Synod of Middleburg — the synod that had been in 
session in 1581. But even if he had, would he have 
urged the arbitrary findings of that body over against 
the great human problem that was confronting the boy? 
Would he have throTO its decision into the scale to 
weigh up against a potential tragedy that might “ grow 
forever and forever ” ? Would he have gone to the 


206 


Bram of the Five Corners 


father who was sadly looking into the soulless eyes of 
his idiot son, holding out to him the proceedings of the 
Synod of Middleburg of 1581, saying, “ At least you 
did not sin against the Seventh Commandment ” ? 

And then also came the thought. Why should the 
Synod of Middleburg govern in a case of this kind — 
or any synod, for that matter, that had been in session 
centuries ago ? Why should a synod not go into session 
now and make revisions? Dr. Victor had called the law 
of life the law of God. Why should not he sit in a 
synod of this kind? The world had advanced since the 
old synods were in session; new truth had been dis- 
covered. 

And the thought of what Dominie Wijnberg would 
have done and said sustained Bram and made the bur- 
dens less hard to bear. His uncle’s displeasure he could 
have borne, but the thought that he was making life 
harder for the patient little wrinkled mother at home 
was bitter. But his nature was deep and steadfast, as 
that of his father had been. His parents had left Bram 
a heritage of mental strength and power. And silently, 
but with unshakable determination, he kept to his 
resolve never to give his own children a less goodly 
heritage. His mother might have to suffer because 
she did not and could not understand. He himself 
might have to suffer because he could and did under- 
stand. The years would pass somehow, but if the law 
of life was true, never in aU the vast spaces of the 
illimitable universe or in the immeasurable distance of 
all eternity could his attempt to live up to this law be 
lost sight of. And very humanly he thought it even 
more important that he always would have the benedic- 
tion of a memory. 


CHAPTER XVn 


BLOOD LUST 



HOUGH Bram’s reason for breaking the engage* 


A ment was not their affair, the people of the Five 
Comers very naturally made it their affair. It was 
Vrouw Poppema who took it upon herself to get to the 
bottom of the mystery. She had no difficulty in learn- 
ing the main, superficial facts from Hattie. 

“ And that’s all he said ? ” she asked eagerly. It 
was the morning after Bram and Hattie had had their 
talk. 

“ All he said.^ ” repeated the girl a little bewildered. 

“ Ja, can’t you hear me? ” returned Vrouw Poppema 
a little impatiently. Getting to the bottom of things 
was the main business of her life, and she had no 
patience with anything that interfered with this. 

“ He said a great deal more,” replied the girl. ‘‘ He 
talked and he talked and he talked — ” 

“ That’s funny,” interrupted Vrouw Poppema, “ I 
never knew Bram could talk.” 

Hattie giggled, partly because of nervousness an^ 
partly because she was not feeling as bad as might have 
been expected under the circumstances. The fact is she 
had not yet learned to take Bram’s resolve seriously. 
He would come back to her and re-establish the old 
relations. It seemed to her impossible that it could be 
otherwise. She had given Vrouw Poppema as full a 
story of the night before as she could, with a vague idea 


[ 207 ] 


208 


Bram of the Five Corners 


that the older woman would encourage her in the thought 
that the trouble was but temporary. She depended 
very much on Vrouw Poppema, whose positiveness of 
character often steadied her in her numerous indeci- 
sions. If now Vrouw Poppema should agree with her 
own rather tentative belief that the breach was but 
temporary all would seem well. 

“ But he didn’t give you no reason? ” persisted the 
older woman. 

“ Well — yes — no — that is, he said a lot, but I 
don’t think he meant it, do you, Vrouw Poppema? ” 

“ Does Bram usually say things that he don’t mean? ” 

Hattie looked up startled, and there was a stab of 
fear in her heart. 

‘‘You ain’t been runnin’ round with other boys?” 
Vrouw Poppema continued her catechism, “ that Bram 
found out? ” 

“ No — no, I should say not.” 

And just then Hattie remembered that Roelof Hilsma 
had held her in his arms. Involuntarily she giggled. 
It had been very sweet, and Bram could not possibly 
have learned about that little episode. Moreover, she 
had not been to blame. That not the physical contact 
but the delight she took in it made her to blame was a 
thought that could not possibly have occurred to Hattie. 
Her child-mind was unable to understand abstractions. 

“ Then it’s another girl,” decided Vrouw Poppema 
positively, so positively that Hattie blanched. Any- 
thing that was stated with sufficient conviction Hattie 
believed — for the moment at least. 

“ I know he told you that was not it,” continued 
Vrouw Poppema, reviewing in her mind the girl’s nar- 
rative, “ but — but — ” 


Blood Lust 


209 


She smiled knowingly. Then another thought struck 
her. 

But he’s learnin’ for dominie ! Had you thought 
of that, Hat? He’s learnin’ for dominie! ” 

“ No,” said Hattie almost breathlessly, “ I hadn’t 
thought of that ; I never thought of that ! ” 

She did not know what connection Bram’s studying 
for the ministry could have with the present difficulty, 
but she took Vrouw Poppema on faith; and the older 
woman’s tone betrayed an important discovery. In- 
stantly Hattie was full of hope. 

‘‘ Him what’s learnin’ for dominie, I should think, 
would know better than to be runnin’ around with other 
girls in De Stad when he’s engaged already. No, it 
must be somethin’ else. What else did he tell you? ” 

“ Nothin’ else, Vrouw Poppema, except he talked a 
lot, as I was sayin’ — but he didn’t say nothin’ else.” 
Neither Vrouw Poppema nor Hattie smiled. 

But the more Vrouw Poppema pondered the mystery 
the more deeply she became convinced that there was 
another girl in the case. True, it seemed preposterous 
that one who was studying for the gospel ministry 
should so far forget himself. But, she thought, even 
ministers are not holy. Though she yielded to no one 
at the Five Corners in her defense of the cloth, Vrouw 
Poppema had certain private reservations. And be- 
sides, Bram had not yet “ entered theology,” as she 
expressed it. That in itself made some difference. 

She resolved to go to a source that would be abso- 
lutely reliable ; and the next time Bram passed her home 
she called out to him. The boy responded with a heavy 
heart. Having somewhat of a knowledge of the com- 
munity’s freedom in asldng personal questions, and 


210 


Bram of the Five Corners 


knowing what Vrouw Poppema was capable of, he was 
at least partly prepared for the catechism. 

“What made you give up Hat Wanhope.?” were 
Vrouw Poppema’s first words. 

“ I would rather not discuss that,” answered Bram 
with painful embarrassment. 

Vrouw Poppema was thunderstruck. She knew Bram, 
and he had often exasperated her with his vague an- 
swers. But that he would positively refuse to answer 
her direct question she had considered not possible. At 
the Five Corners people were in the habit of asking 
questions freely. When a stranger happened into the 
community he was usually encountered by the ques- 
tion, “ And what might your name be ? ” This was 
followed with, “Where are you from?” And this in 
turn was followed with inquiry as to his destination, 
what the business might be that was bringing him to 
the Five Corners, and how long he expected to stay. 
Not infrequently he was called upon to give an answer 
even as to what his church afllliations might be. And 
to all these personal questions answers were expected, 
as a matter of course. “ Them people ask the shirt off 
a man’s back,” is the way Foppe Vanhuis, who wished 
to be considered up-to-date, described the custom. 

“ It’s schandalig, Bram, schandalig! ” exclaimed 
Vrouw Poppema with considerable heat, “ you learnin’ 
for dominie and runnin’ around with other girls while 
engaged to Hat Wanhope.” 

Bram made no answer. His anger was rising at what 
he considered Vrouw Poppema’s unwarranted interfer- 
ence in his personal affairs. To control his temper 
he kept still. 

But Vrouw Poppema misinterpreted his silence. 


Blood Lust 


211 


Bram left the house as soon as he could escape, without 
giving even a vague reply to her questions. 

“ I got it direct from him,” Vrouw Poppema after- 
wards exclaimed triumphantly to Berend, her husband ; 
“ he’s got another girl in De Stad, that’s why he gave 
up Hat Wanhope. You can’t say I’m only talkin’. I 
went straight to him and asked him.” 

“And he told you it was because of another girl? ” 
Berend Poppema liked Bram Meesterling ; he would 
have liked to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

“ You must think he’s crazy,” answered his wife con- 
temptuously. “ Who ever heard of anyone sayin’ such 
a thing right out? But I ain’t blind. 1 put it straight 
to him ; asked him if he had another girl in De Stad ; 
told him it was a shame, and him learnin’ for dominie. 
And what do you think he said? ” 

“ Well, what did he say? ” asked her husband. 

“ He said never a word. Stood there like a dummy, 
like as he didn’t have ’em all.” By “ ’em all ” Vrouw 
Poppema meant mental faculties, of course. 

“ And from that you make out that he’s got another 
girl in De Stad? ” There was a slight suggestion of 
contempt in Berend Poppema’s tone that struck flint in 
his wife. 

“ That’s exactly what I do,” she said severely ; “ and 
that’s exactly what anyone with any sense would do. 
If he ain’t got no other girl in De Stad, why should 
he not tell me so? Answer me that! ” 

She looked at her husband in triumph. Berend knew 
that her logic was unanswerable and consequently she 
was enjoying herself. 

“ But he’s learnin’ for dominie,” defended Berend 
weakly. 


212 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ That’s just what I told Hat.” Again there was 
triumph in the voice of Vrouw Poppema. It was 
pleasant to have another, one who sometimes used a 
slightly contemptuous tone to her, think her thoughts 
after her — a good while after her. “ But that ain’t 
sayin’ nothin’. Even David, the man of God, fell into 
sin. Besides, Bram didn’t enter theology yet.” 

Having convinced herself and all others with whom 
she discussed the important subject that there was 
“ another girl in De Stad,” Vrouw Poppema made it 
her business to learn who this other girl might be. She 
tried Vrouw Meesterling, but Bram’s mother made a 
curt denial of the charge. She refused so positively 
to talk about the case that from that day on the rela- 
tions between the two women were strained. 

And then the happy thought struck Vrouw Poppema 
that the necessary information might be obtained from 
Bartel Westerbaan. Vrouw Poppema had not been in 
the habit of patronizing the Westerbaan store. She 
had for years bought her groceries in a shop in another 
street — a shop also, of course, conducted by a member 
of the Christian Reformed church. And it was with a 
pang of regret she told herself she might have been 
trading at Westerbaan’s all these years, thus paving 
the way for catechizing him at this crucial moment. 

But she did the next best thing. Vrouw Poppema 
never continued long indulging in vain regrets. She 
believed in letting the dead past bury its dead; unless, 
as in this case, she herself felt that she would like to 
have a hand in disinterring what some one else would 
rather keep buried. Her first step was to transfer her 
patronage to the Westerbaan store without delay. Still 
smarting under the rebuff she had received from Bram’s 


Blood Lust 


213 


mother, Vrouw Poppema did not risk an immediate 
rebuff from Bram’s uncle. She bought generously for 
a week or two before broaching the subject that was 
nearest to her heart, and she encouraged Bartel Wester- 
baan to talk about his articles in Het Weekhlad. Yes, 
she had read them every week, and she had often won- 
dered where he got all the information they contained. 
It was wonderful what a man who hadn’t been through 
college even could do if he applied himself. Had she 
but known it Vrouw Poppema might have attained her 
end while purchasing only a fourth of what she did buy. 
To the average merchant a new customer would have 
been the main thing. But that was not first in impor- 
tance for Bartel. He had gained a new auditor. This 
it was that made him rejoice. He stroked his massive, 
smooth-shaven face with intense satisfaction. 

And then, having laid her wires, Vrouw Poppema 
ventured her questions. She paved the way by making 
certain remarks about Bram and Hattie Wanhope, 
remarks that were entirely neutral. All this paving 
of the way was extremely distasteful to one of Vrouw 
Poppema’s vigor and blunt straightforwardness. She 
was in the habit of asking questions abruptly. But 
the rebuff from Bram’s mother had put her on her 
guard. 

“ No, that is not it,” replied Bartel Westerbaan 
noncommittally. He did not wish to offend his sym- 
pathetic listener. 

“ But I understood from Bram that there was some- 
thing like that,” ventured Vrouw Poppema, knowing 
that retreat would be comparatively easy. 

“What.?* From Bram? You talked to the boy 
himself? ” 


214 


Bram of the Five Corners 


Vrouw Poppema nodded smilingly. 

“ But he don’t talk much, and we couldn’t get it out 
of him what it is. But if even his uncle don’t know, 
then he sure has kept it pretty quiet.” 

Bartel Westerbaan looked sharply at Vrouw Pop- 
pema. She seemed to be a woman of sense; had read 
all his articles and certainly understood something of 
what he was trying to do for the Dutch people. Yes, 
she was not the common garrulous country woman. 
Had she indeed discovered something about the case 
that he had not learned? And might it not be barely 
possible that what Bram had said to him about the 
matter was but part of the story? Bartel Westerbaan 
understood something of mixed motives. Moreover he 
was anxious to please Vrouw Poppema. 

“ Well, come to think of it,” he answei*ed, “ Bram 
did occasionally take a girl to a lecture or so; but I 
understood that this is a kind of custom among the 
students. No, I don’t think it was another girl.” 

But before Vrouw Poppema left for home she had 
learned from Bartel what she had come to learn. 

“ It’s such a Baptist girl,” she told her husband 
triumphantly. “ Elliot is her name. I told you so 
right along.” 

And before supper she found time to step over to 
Wanhope’s to impart the result of her investigations 
to Hattie. 

“ Now that’s what I call somethin’ for the consistory 
to look into,” she said to her husband while the two 
were eating supper. “ Here he’s learnin’ for dominie, 
a boy what belongs to the church, who got engaged to 
one of our own girls years ago and now breaks it off for 
such a Baptist girl ! ” 


Blood Lust 


215 


Because of her intimate knowledge of the people of 
the Five Comers Vrouw Poppema knew that the state- 
ment that Hattie’s supposed rival was a member of one 
of the “ lighter ” religious denominations was the worst 
indictment that could be brought against Bram. 

Nonsense,” replied Berend a little impatiently. 
Berend saw breakers ahead, and his peace-loving soul 
rebelled against any disturbance of his calm. Moreover 
his affection for Bram was genuine. 

“ That’s what you always say. Whenever I try to 
say somethin’ for the good of yourself or some one else, 
you laugh it away.” 

Vrouw Poppema worked herself up into a miniature 
fit of anger. 

“ It’s mighty easy to laugh ; anyone can laugh ; any- 
one can say, ‘ Nonsense ’ ; but it takes some sense to do 
somethin’ real. What are we cornin’ to here if this is 
allowed to go on? If the consistory ain’t goin’ to look 
into this, what in the world are they for? But you are 
so easy goin’. You’d let ’em do anything. It’s just men 
like you, I’m thinkin’, who let all this false doctrine 
creep into the church — this evollootion we hear so much 
about, and this woman votin’ and them revival meetin’s 
and — and — and — ” 

Vrouw Poppema stopped abruptly, at a loss for 
another illustration of false doctrine. 

As an elder in the church Berend Poppema was sensi- 
tive to criticism of the consistory. His face became 
flushed and he was about to retort something sharp 
when Roelof Hilsma opened the door. 

“ Heden, Roelof,” gushed Vrouw Poppema, her face 
alight with welcome, “ that’s the first time you have 
been here, I do believe, the past year.” 


210 


Bram of the Five Corners 


Berend said quietly, “ Zoo, Roelof,” nodding to a 
chair. Vrouw Popperaa rattled on, touching on various 
subjects and at last inevitably coming round to the 
affair of Bram and Hattie. It was that that Roelof 
Hilsma had come for. The word had already gone 
forth that Vrouw Poppema had discovered something 
really important in the mystery, and Roelof was deeply 
interested. The habitual cloudiness of his mentality 
seemed lifted for a moment because of the stimulus of 
his interest in the girl. 

“ I was sayin’ to Berend,” Vrouw Poppema rattled 
on, “ just as you come in I was sayin’ that this is some- 
thing what the consistory ought to get after and get 
after good ! It ain’t like as Bram was only a farmer, 
though goodness knows even for a farmer it would be 
bad enough. But him learnin’ for dominie ! ” 

“ Ja, ja,'" agreed Roelof, “ they ought to do some- 
thin’.” 

“ It’s easy enough to talk when you ain’t in the 
consistory,” replied Berend Poppema — “ mighty easy 
to talk. But if either of you was a deacon or elder I 
guess you’d sing another tune.” 

“ I’m a woman,” answered Vrouw Poppema with 
dignity, “ and so it’s plump foolish to say, ‘ If you was 
an elder.’ You know well enough what Paul says about 
women in the church. But I’ll tell you what I would do 
if I was like Roelof here or any other young man of the 
Five Corners what has knowed Hat Wanhope all their 
lives. If I was such a man and the consistory did not 
take hold of the case I’d get together and learn Bram 
Meesterling somethin’ what he’d never forget.” 

Vrouw Poppema’s eyes flashed. She had no strong 
grudge against Bram; but her husband’s opposition to 


Blood Lust 


217 


her suggestion of church discipline had aroused her. 
It had brought out her fighting spirit. 

“How.? What? Learn him somethin’? Just how 
do you mean that? ” ventured Roelof. 

“ I mean what I say,” snapped Vrouw Poppema ; “ in 
the South they hang ’em. That’s goin’ a little far, but 
I’d give him a scare, that’s what Vd do.” 

“ Be silent, vrouw,” commanded Berend sharply. He 
was angry. His wife cowered before his look. And 
Roelof, feeling somehow that there was a battle im- 
minent in this household, got up to go. 

During the next few days bloody visions of Bram 
strung up on a tree and riddled with bullets peopled 
the hazy imagination of Roelof Hilsma. Vrouw Pop- 
pema had not seriously meant what she said; she had 
merely had a desire to impress her husband and to 
administer to him a rebuke for his dilatoriness in deal- 
ing with Bram in a consistory meeting. It was a case 
of the law’s delay necessitating the exercise of elemental 
justice. In her desire to make her husband understand 
what dire consequences his lukewarmness in the matter 
might have she had overdrawn the picture. And she 
had actually succeeded in impressing the slow-witted 
Roelof. 

With Bram strung up in the approved way, his body 
riddled with bullets, as such jobs were done down South, 
everything would be simple. So reasoned Roelof. He 
had held Hattie Wanhope in his arms. True, the girl 
had reproved him; but even Roelof had felt a lack of 
genuineness in the reproof. He couldn’t understand 
anjrway what Hattie could see in “ such a dude what was 
goin’ to college.” But girls don’t know what’s good 
for them, and Plattie would maybe like to be a lady. 


218 


Bram of the Five Corners 


Wherever Roelof turned Bram stood in his way ; he 
was helpless. True, Bram had thrown over Hattie for 
“ such an English girl ” in De Stad, but he would tire 
of the other girl soon and come back to Hattie. Noth- 
ing except the picture of Bram strung up with bullets 
in his body would give Roelof any peace. That picture 
satisfied him. His dull eyes for a moment gleamed with 
pleasure. 

A week later a small group of young men came slink- 
ing through the moonlight toward the bridge over the 
little stream from which Bram had a thousand times 
rescued an imaginary Hattie. They advanced with un- 
natural stealthiness. Whenever one of them clumsily 
struck his heavy “ plow ” shoe against a stone all the 
others looked at him in reproof, their faces not free 
from a suggestion of consternation. Conspiracy was 
in the air. Each lank, big-boned youth had resolution 
writ large upon his face. More than one heavy fist 
was clinched, but not for any well-defined reason — 
merely in unconscious sympathy with the mental state 
of the group. With the legs of their overalls rolled up 
half way to the knees, in the manner of the Five Corner 
youths when they meant to say, “ Look at me, I’m a 
reckless devil ! ” they strode along, uttering not a word, 
except occasionally in a whisper. Each had his cap 
drawn down over his eyes. And the hearts of more 
than one quaked at the thought of the awfulness of the 
venture on which the little group had embarked. 

The version of the story of the affair of Bram and 
Hattie that Vrouw Poppema had brought back from 
De Stad had aroused these champions of Five Corners’ 
womanhood. Hattie Wanhope was popular, and there 
was not one of the group who had not at one time or 


Blood Lust 


219 


other looked upon her pretty face and said in his heart 
that it was good; not one who had not at one time or 
other had secret hopes. And now that Bram Meester- 
ling had thrown this girl over, had deliberately flung 
her away for another — “ one of them high-toned girls 
in De Stad ” — every youth’s most sacred feelings were 
outraged. All felt that something ought to be done. 
There were wild suggestions aplenty. But none of them 
would stand the test of close scrutiny with a view of 
putting it into practice. 

When, therefore, Roelof Hilsma came forward with 
a suggestion that he knew what was needed all jumped 
eagerly at the opportunity of venting their just anger. 
Roelof was not usually taken very seriously; but this 
was an unusual emergency. Besides, Roelof hinted that 
Vrouw Poppema had made suggestions, and all had a 
deep respect for Vrouw Poppema. Without more ado 
they enlisted under Roelof’s banner, as it were. But 
when the movement had once been started the leader did 
not have strength of will to regulate it. It carried him 
along, and the party became free with dire threats 
that made Roelof more bloodthirsty than ever. He was 
vague about his particular plan, and each one of the 
group was too full of his own vague notions of what 
ought to be done in a case of this kind to make any 
detailed inquiries. 

The little group crouched in the shadow of the wall 
that supported the bridge, and waited. It was Friday 
night and Bram was sure to cross the bridge some time 
before midnight on his way from De Stad to his mother’s 
home. Now and again one of the party shivered — not 
from cold but from a certain nameless dread that even 
the boldest conspirator cannot wholly suppress. Each 


220 


Bram of the Five Corners 


one felt that had it not been for the others it was not 
impossible that he might remain crouching in the 
shadow of the wall while Bram should pass unmolested 
over the bridge and homeward. But there were eight 
of them there, and not one knew that any one of the 
others was shivering! 

When finally, after what seemed an interminable 
wait, Bram’s footstep fell with a hollow sound on the 
bridge, it was not Roelof Hilsma who took the initia- 
tive. Not one in the group said a word until the 
victim had passed some yards beyond the bridge. Then 
there issued forth a faint, “ Halt 1 ” But faint though 
the sound was, it sounded like a clap of thunder to the 
conspirators, and only the shadow of the wall prevented 
them from discovering one another’s consternation. 

Bram stopped. He looked back at the bridge, but 
seeing no one he was about to go on. Changing his 
mind he said: 

“ Who’s there ? What do you want ? ” 

These commonplace words, pronounced by the well- 
known voice, miraculously revived the courage of the 
conspirators. They rushed forth from their hiding 
place, and before Bram knew what was happening he 
found himself surrounded. One youth had the presence 
of mind to tie a dirty red bandanna handkerchief over 
the victim’s eyes. Bram felt himself carried along, 
with not a word spoken. Wondering what it all meant 
he struggled at first ; but finding that useless he desisted. 

‘‘ Well, what are you going to do with me.^ ” he asked 
presently, and this question brought the group to a 
sudden stop. Bram felt his feet again placed on the 
ground. 

Everyone looked at Roelof. He had taken but a 


Blood Lust 


221 


small part in the actual capturing and blindfolding of 
Bram. He stood now in consternation. The weight 
of sudden leadership thus thrust upon him was intoler- 
ably heavy. He stood tongue-tied. Each member of 
the group had had fifty plans of dealing effectively 
with Bram. But not a single plan seemed feasible now, 
and all looked to Roelof. 

“ Well, Roelof,” ventured one in a stage whisper, 
“what was that Vrouw — you know who I mean — 
told you.f* Out with it! We’ve got to do somethin’.” 

Roelof was in a panic. 

“ They do it down South,” he gasped — “ string 
’em up on a tree and fill ’em with bullets.” 

The bloody picture that had filled his imagination 
all week suddenly had become impossible, now that the 
real flesh and blood Bram was before him. It was one 
thing to hang and fill with lead an imaginary rival and 
quite another thing to mete out the same dire punish- 
ment to a real person. 

“ Be sure you get a strong enough rope,” said Bram, 
for whom the strangeness of the adventure was lost in 
the humor of it. 

Roelof looked at the others and the others looked at 
Roelof. Then a sigh of something like relief escaped 
the latter. His rope and gun had both also been imag- 
inary. It would be impossible now to hang and fill the 
victim with bullets. 

Followed a whispered conversation as to what course 
to pursue. Numerous suggestions were made and 
rejected, Bram standing meanwhile rather enjoying the 
experience. It was a welcome relief from the thoughts 
that had beset him the past weeks. But his captors 
came no nearer a decision. 


222 


Bram of the Five Corners 


Suddenly Bram jerked himself free. He pulled the 
handkerchief from his eyes and stood facing the group. 

“ I’ve had enough of this,” he said. “ I’m going 
home without any more fuss. The first one who comes 
a step nearer to lay a hand on me I’ll give a taste of 
this,” and he held up his clinched fist. Without another 
word he turned on his heel and strode away. 

The conspirators stood undecided. Then as though 
with one impulse they turned on Roelof Hilsma. But 
Roelof had disappeared! 


CHAPTER XVIII 


WEIGHED AND FOUND WANTING 

I T was the ludicrous encounter at the bridge that was 
the one green spot in Bram’s existence at this time. 
Because his was still the inexperience of young man- 
hood he felt that his life was a mess from which he 
could not build the beautiful structure that he had 
dreamed of and that Dominie Wijnberg had hoped for. 
He already saw dimly that his decision would have far- 
reaching results — results that he could not escape and 
that would probably change the whole course of his life. 
But he did not yet see beyond these results. He did 
not yet see that beyond the intricate maze of his trou- 
bles there might be a wide and a beautiful highway. 
For the present existence seemed drab. He who had 
often dramatized his life — himself the hero in each 
scene and act and episode — found that life itself had 
insisted on turning playwright and on making him the 
villain — or was it stage fool? Bram was not without 
his touches of bitterness ; not even his mother had been 
able to appreciate his motives in doing what he had 
done. 

And so the comedy at the bridge came as a welcome 
episode. It relieved the dramatic tension, as the school 
books put it. Bram made the welcome discovery that 
he had not forgotten how to laugh. And when he awoke 
the next morning the sunlight that came streaming in 
at the window seemed a little brighter than it had done 
[223 ] 


224 


Bram of the Five Corners 


for some time. And his enjoyment of the episode 
increased as he learned to understand better all that 
had led up to it and all that flowed • from it. Some 
weeks earlier the intense unpopularity which the assault 
was evidence of would have been keenly felt by Bram. 
But that now seemed a little thing in the face of his 
mother’s attitude. 

It was Roelof Hilsma who gave the only authentic 
version of the affair, revised and unabridged, as it were 
— with copious footnotes and a lengthy preface and 
afterword. And the other seven who had taken part 
in the assault did not enter a denial. Roelof’s version 
put the party in a creditable light, and they found 
they could not improve on his story. They were not 
averse to a bit of local hero-worship. 

“ Course, we didn’t string ’im up and fill ’im with 
bullets like they do down South,” Roelof concluded. 
“We are what they call civilized here. But we learned 
him a lesson, me and the others — a lesson that Bram 
won’t forget in all his born days. We handled him 
pretty rough. And he didn’t have nothing to say; we 
had him scared stiff. City dudes look fine enough in 
a sittin’ room, but when they come up against the real 
thing they look pretty small.” 

Exactly what the gang had done to Bram was not 
explained in detail to the people of the Five Corners. 
It was left largely to their individual imaginations 
because of the fact that Roelof was not possessed of 
much imagination himself. And in the course of the 
week Vrouw Poppema supplied many details thatbecame 
part of the story. 

Rumors of the various versions of the prowess of 
Roelof and his gang came to Bram in due time, and 


Weighed and Found Wanting 225 


he secretly extracted considerable enjoyment out of 
the comparison of these versions with the facts. 

“ You know what they done? ” said Vrouw Poppema 
to Berend, her husband ; “ they took him by the neck 
and ducked him under water in the river till he looked 
like a drowned cat.” 

Berend Poppema looked at his wife in mild-eyed 
amazement. Vrouw Poppema had imagined this scene 
because of the fact that the hold-up had taken place 
near the bridge. And Roelof had not denied it when 
she had described it to him. 

‘‘ And I’ll tell you what else they done : they rode 
him on a rail — and — and — Roelof was hintin’ at a 
lot of other things, what I couldn’t quite get out of 
him. But they learned him good and plenty ! ” 

“ And you uphold them in this ? ” asked Berend — 
‘‘ him learnin’ for dominie ! Suppose he should be our 
dominie some day. It ain’t so far off, only a little 
more than three years. Then what would them boys 
do? And what would you dp, with me elder of his 
church ? ” 

“What would I do? What would I do?” Vrouw 
Poppema looked at her husband with pitying scorn. 
“ If Bram Meesterling ever gets to be our dominie, 
he’ll never see me in his church. I’d turn Reformed 
rather than that ! ” 

But frightened by the daring audacity of this state- 
ment Vrouw Poppema did not go on to say all that was 
in her mind. 

“ And there’d be mighty few others of the Five Cor- 
ners who would go to his church,” she finished lamely. 

Berend did not answer. He was beginning to see 
that trouble was inevitable, and he could not help but 


226 


Brani of the Five Corners 


feel that his wife’s prophecy might find fulfillment. As 
though in answer to his thoughts she continued: 

“ And what’s more, Berend, I want to tell you that 
it will be on your head and on the heads of the whole 
consistory if they don’t do their duty now. If you let 
such a case like Bram’s go right on with nothing said, 
then what are we cornin’ to? Pretty soon anything 
will pass. If they do such things among the Baptists, 
Methodists, and such other light kind, that’s bad enough 
already ; but of them you can understand it. But with 
us it’s somethin’ else.” 

There was only one fear Bram had in regard to the 
episode — that it would come to the ears of his mother. 
But the danger of this was lessened because Vroiiw 
Meesterling had given way to the illness that had been 
sapping her vitality for many months. She had taken 
to her bed; and for the first time since childhood she 
who had always served others allowed others to serve 
her. 

“What mess did you get into again last night?” 
said Anton severely. “ Ain’t we all had shame enough 
of you ? Everybody’s talkin’ about it, and I’m ashamed 
to put my head out of doors. Here we’ve been slavin’ 
to put you through college, me and mother and Wilm, 
and what are you turnin’ into? Much better if you’d 
stayed at home and learned to work.” 

Bram listened meekly to his elder brother. Anton 
was so much older than he that he was almost like a 
father to the boy. After all, Anton had rights; and 
Bram was not insensible to his brother’s point of view. 

“ I’m goin’ to talk it over with mother,” concluded 
Anton after he had indulged in a lengthy reprimand. 

Bram barred the way threateningly. 


Weighed and Found Wanting 227 


“ You can tallc to me as much as you like, but you 
are not going to tell mother. She has had about 
enough. Besides, what they are saying is all wrong. 
I was not ducked in the river and nothing was done 
to me. There is nothing to tell mother. And even if 
there were I’m not going to have you do it. Anyone 
who disturbs her with this ridiculous story is going to 
liave me to deal with.” 

Anton looked at Bram and Bram returned the look, 
his eyes flashing fire. The older brother turned away 
to the barn to feed the horses. 

But Vrouw Meesterling was the only one at the Five 
Corners who remained ignorant of all the details of the 
encounter at the bridge, both real and imaginary. 
There was not a small boy who did not know exactly 
how many times Roelof Hilsma and his gang had ducked 
Bram into the river. And mothers were already begin- 
ning to say to their youngsters, when caught in mis- 
chief, “ You better watch out or when you grow up 
you’ll turn out to be like Bram Meesterling.” He who 
had always been pointed to as the pride of the Five 
Corners, the only one of the community who was going 
through college, who had been pointed out in awe 
because of his supposed great learning — learning 
moreover that was to culminate in the awe-inspiring 
dignity of the gospel ministry — this paragon of wis- 
dom and virtue had suddenly become a bugaboo, a 
monster for all to shun. Bram felt keenly the change 
toward him on the part of the people of the Five Cor- 
ners. Few enjoy having the finger of scorn pointed at 
them by their neighbors; but he sternly set about the 
task of facing his drab future, meanwhile standing 
guard over his mother. 


228 


Bram of the Five Corners 


And in proportion as Bram fell deeper into disgrace 
in the community the stock of Roelof Hilsma rose. 
Mortals must have some hero to worship; and Roelof 
had led the gang that had humiliated Bram. Roelof 
came to be looked upon as the defender of the honor 
and dignity of the Five Corners ; he had struck a blow 
for the community’s womanhood. 

“ Roelof’s got more spunk than all the elders and 
deacons put together,” said Vrouw Poppema to her 
husband. “ That’s what I call takin’ hold of a thing 
right. If the consistory had half the grit they ought 
to have, somethin’ would be done.” 

Berend made no reply. He was already convinced 
that some action would have to be taken. The pressure 
from the people of the congregation was becoming irre- 
sistible. He was holding back as long as possible. But 
as the head of the consistory he was beginning to smart 
under the odium that attached to inaction. 

Meanwhile, while Berend hesitated, his wife assidu- 
ously fed the flame that must inevitably break out 
sooner or later in an open movement against Bram. 
She worked tirelessly. A congregation of some twenty- 
five families is quite easily covered even in a rural dis- 
trict where the houses are far apart. She told a moving 
story of Hattie Wanhope, heartbroken and deserted, 
her hopes blasted and her life spoiled. 

‘‘ She’s goin’ into consumption, sure as you live,” 
said Vrouw Poppema, “ and then her death will be on 
Bram Meesterling’s head. If that ain’t reason enough 
for the consistory to do something, I’d like to know 
what is.” 

“ Goin’ into consumption ” for young women disap- 
pointed in love was a favorite superstition at the Five 


Weighed and Found Wanting 229 


Comers, and hence Vrouw Poppema’s warning found 
easy lodgment. Wherever a young girl and her swain 
disagreed seriously all the old women were sure she 
would “ go into consumption.” Why this particular 
disease was chosen rather than smallpox or typhoid 
fever must forever remain a mystery. 

jfl,” answered Vrouw Poppema’s auditors 
gravely, “ seems to me she looks kind o’ white and thin 
already. Hat was never big and fat like others.” 

But if the truth must be told Hattie rather enjoyed 
the storm that had been raised in her behalf. She had 
become a very important member in the community, and 
she was not insensible to the implied compliment. More- 
over, she had overwhelming faith in the power of the 
consistory. That august body would bring Bram to 
his senses and would make everything come out right in 
the end. Bram had thrown her over for a girl in De 
Stad, and Hattie whole-heartedly hated her supposed 
rival. But if only Bram could be made to renounce 
this other girl there seemed to Hattie to be nothing in 
the way of complete reconciliation between her and 
Bram. She was ready to receive him with no question 
asked. 

“ We learned Bram something he ain’t goin’ to for- 
get,” boasted Roelof Hilsma in telling Hattie for the 
tenth time the story of the encounter at the bridge. 
Roelof had heard others tell it and he had told it so 
often himself that he had come to believe every detail. 
He was not conscious of falsehood as he gave a vivid 
description of the affair. It was only when it came to 
the ducking scene that Roelof’s powers failed. He could 
not bring himself to describe this scene ; but neither was 
it necessary. Whoever was listening was eager to sup- 


230 


Bram of the Five Corners 


ply all the details of it, and Roelof can hardly be blamed 
if he was not too much of a stickler for absolute accu- 
racy. 

“ We didn’t hurt him ; no, no, we didn’t hurt him. 
And it’s mighty lucky for him that we was so careful. 
Down South, you know, they string ’em up and fill ’em 
with bullets. But we told him right away we wouldn’t 
really hurt him. We just wanted to learn him not to 
be too fresh, throwin’ over the prettiest girl at the Five 
Corners like she was less than nobody.” 

But as soon as he had said these significant words 
Roelof was in a panic. Paying pointed compliments 
was not his forte. He had carefully prepared the 
speech; but not until he heard himself pronounce the 
words had he believed he would really say them to her. 
He was about to turn away and seek refuge in a pre- 
cipitous retreat. But before he could do so Hattie 
giggled! 

Roelof looked at the girl and she met his look boldly. 
She remembered vividly the little scene under the oak 
tree on her father’s farm. It was very sweet to be in 
a man’s arms. Her body desired it, and her body was 
mature and strong. Would he do it again.? On the 
previous occasion there had been the discouragement of 
daylight ; now the moon was shining overhead and semi- 
darkness was like a wall about them. 

And when Roelof did rise to the occasion Hattie did 
not push him from her. Roelof was overwhelmed with 
happiness. As he walked homeward two hours later he 
told himself that he had played this game of love with 
consummate skill. He did not deceive himself entirely. 
He knew that if Bram Meesterling should again enter 
the race he, Roelof, would have no chance whatever. 


Weighed and Found Wanting 231 


But at least he had made a beginning, and he hoped 
that the other girl in De Stad would continue to be his 
ally. Moreover, he was looked upon at the Five Cor- 
ners as something of a hero, and that alone gave him 
confidence. 

When Bram entered the little consistory room he was 
forcefully reminded of that other time when he had 
entered the same room to meet the same body of men 
seven years before. Then, as a lad of fourteen, he had 
come to “ make confession of faith.” He had felt half 
guiltily that he did not experience as much religious 
ecstasy as the occasion seemed to demand; yet his face 
had been turned to the future and its boundless possi- 
bilities for growth. Then Dominie Wijnberg had been 
there to encourage him and to interpret his innate tim- 
idity aright. 

Now he was to meet the same consistory again — the 
first time he had met it as an official body since his 
confession — and this time he was to meet it as a man 
meets men. He was called upon to justify his own 
judgment over against theirs. And he was fully as 
embarrassed as he had been on the previous occasion. 
He shuddered as he remembered that now there was no 
Dominie Wijnberg to encourage him and to understand 
him aright. Though nominally he had merely been 
called upon to state his case, Bram could not escape the 
feeling that he was going to judgment, and that the 
jury was prejudiced against him. Seven years ago he 
had left that consistory room full of high hopes ; tonight 
he returned to it knowing that he was facing disgrace 
at the Five Corners. 

Bram did not know that he had one friend in the 


232 


Bram of the Five Corners 


consistory and that one the leader, who informally 
assumed the office of chairman of the body in the absence 
of a pastor. Since the death of Dominie Wijnberg the 
congregation had been unable to secure a successor, 
and Berend Poppema presided at all meetings ; he fre- 
quently conducted the services on Sunday, reading in 
his slow, measured tones one of Brakel’s sermons. The 
other members of the consistory — Jan Hendrik Blick- 
man. Harm Bazelaar, and Bastiaan Kuiken — were dis- 
posed to subject Bram to the third degree but the 
fact that Berend Poppema was on his side was greatly 
in his favor. Back of the consistory was the commu- 
nity, and the pressure from that side was strong. 

Bastiaan Kuiken opened the meeting with a lengthy 
prayer in which he referred pointedly to the “ mis- 
guided young brother who was wandering far from the 
true path,” but Berend Poppema took away much of 
the force of this in the opening statement. The young 
brother had not been forced to come, he pointed out. 
He had merely been asked to meet the consistory to talk 
over a matter that might possibly be adequately 
explained. The young brother was not to be condemned 
before he had been heard. He was to be given all pos- 
sible opportunity to explain and to make clear to the 
members of the consistory what seemed unfortunate, to 
say the least. The members must remember that never 
had it been necessary to subject the young brother to 
church discipline; that he had always since his confes- 
sion of faith conducted himself in a manner that was 
seemly before the Lord. But on his part the young 
brother must remember that the circumstances were 
somewhat unusual; that under ordinary circumstances 
a case such as he had been asked to explain might not 


Weighed and Found Wanting 233 


have been made the basis for consistory action; that 
because of the very fact that he was something more 
than the ordinary member of the church — about to 
enter upon the work that would lead to the gospel min- 
istry — that for that reason this step had become 
imperative. 

Berend sat down and Bram wondered what would 
happen next. He wiped the perspiration from the 
palms of his hands with his handkerchief. He could not 
stop his eyelids from twitching nervously. 

“ Well, Bram, what have you got to say for your- 
self.^ ” said Bastiaan Kuiken in gruff concession to 
Berend’s statement of the case. Bastiaan was deter- 
mined to stand by his prayer. Because of that prayer 
the proceedings could hardly help but develop into a 
contest between Bastiaan and any one who should cham- 
pion the cause of Bram. 

The boy did not answer. He had nothing to explain 
to these men. For Hattie’s sake he had come deter- 
mined not to reveal the real cause of the breaking of 
the engagement. He blew his nose with the vague idea 
of bridging an embarrassing silence. But the consis- 
tory of the Five Corners was not to be put off. 

“ Out with it,” insisted Bastiaan ; “ what did you 
come here for anyway if you ain’t got nothin’ to say 
for yourself.? ” 

“ I think you ought to make some statement, Bram,” 
said Berend Poppema gently. “ You did not ask for 
this meeting, I know, but still you are expected to say 
somethin’.” 

Bram cleared his throat to speak, although he did 
not clearly know what to say. But before he could 
begin Bastiaan Kuiken again broke in: 


234 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ You broke the laws of the church, and I don’t care 
if I tell you. Your own oom will tell you that — Bartel 
Westerbaan,” he explained to the others. “ I was 
talkin’ to him last week and he showed me how as the 
Synod of Middleburg laid down the law — the synod 
what met in 1581 — laid down the law that breakin’ an 
engagement is a sin against the Seventh Command- 
ment.” 

“ And that for such a high-tone girl in De Stad ! ” 
was Harm Bazelaar’s contribution to the discussion ; 
“ seems as one what’s learnin’ for dominie would know 
better ! ” 

Bram did his best now to get an opportunity to 
speak, but in vain. The members of the consistory 
were launched on a theme that had engaged the atten- 
tion of the whole community for weeks, and not one of 
them, with the exception of Berend Poppema, could 
forego the opportunity of airing his pet theories. 

“ And that such a Baptist girl ! ” 

It was Jan Hendrik Blickman who finally made this 
crowning indictment. 

“ Ja, what have you to say to that.? ” Bastiaan 
Kuiken hastened to say, “ throwin’ over a good Chris- 
tian Dutch girl for such an English Baptist .? ” 

“ That’s all wrong,” answered Bram ; but he spoke 
in a tone so low that it was hardly heard. 

“ What ! ” snapped Bastiaan, “ you mean to say I 
ain’t tellin’ the truth ? ” 

“No, I don’t mean that at all,” ventured Bram more 
confidently ; “ I mean to say that this rumor that has 
been going the rounds that it was because of another 
girl is all wrong. There is no other girl. I have told 
Hattie I would never marry, and I mean every word of 


Weighed and Found Wanting 235 


that. I have done what I consider the only right thing 
to do. I don’t mean to explain it here. I have said 
all I wish to say. You may do what you think is 
right.” 

He sat down, having risen to address the consistory, 
yielding unconsciously to his habit of arising for reci- 
tation in class room. The consistory members looked 
mystified. Then a light dawned on the face of Bastiaan 
Kuiken. 

“ HedeUy heden! ” he exclaimed, “ if it ain’t another 
girl, then it must be true what your Oom Bartel was 
tellin’ me yesterday.” 

Turning to the others he explained : 

“ It was so mal that I listened to it with only half 
an ear. What do you think Bartel Westerbaan said 
was the reason Bram threw over Hat Wanhope? He 
says as it was because Bram thought Hat was wrong 
in the head. Think of that, wrong in the head ! ” 

Bram turned deathly white. He shivered and then 
he had a momentary impulse to strike Bastiaan. But 
he controlled himself and met the incredulous looks of 
the consistory members. 

“ I always knew Chris Wanhope ain’t quite right — 
even before he got soft in the head — and that Vrouw 
Wanhope wasn’t far from it neither,” said Harm Baze- 
laar, “ but Hat — ! ” 

“ Who ever heard of such a thing? ” asked Jan Hen- 
drik Blickman. 

Bram knew that the time had come for him to make 
a stand. For one wild moment he thought he might 
possibly make the men understand. So when Berend 
Poppema asked, “Well, Bram, what is there to this? ” 
he arose to reply. 


286 


Bram of the Five Corners 


And before he was through Bram had forgotten his 
surroundings. He was carried away by an almost apos- 
tolic zeal for the new social gospel because of his faith 
in which he had broken up his own life. The law of 
life which was also the law of God; the law of life 
that no one can escape, but that on the other hand 
blesseth unto the thousandth generation them that obey 
it! Bram spoke with a passion that for the moment 
awed the members of the consistory so that no one inter- 
rupted. He painted a picture of degeneracy. And this 
he followed with a picture of the race of man that may 
be. He made his plea with a passion and a vigor that 
startled the unlettered farmers. They noted the fire in 
his eyes and the conviction that rang in his words. 
When he sat down Bastiaan Kuiken whispered almost 
audibly to Harm Bazelaar: 

“ Seems to me it’s him what’s wrong in the head, 
’stead of Hat Wanhope.” 

That was evidently also the view that Jan Hendrik 
Blickman and Harm Bazelaar took of the matter. 
They were disposed to pass it over lightly. Not hav- 
ing understood much of what Bram had said they found 
it harder to argue about it than about the clearer 
proposition that there was another young woman in the 
case. 

But Berend Poppema looked grave. 

“ You mean to say,” he asked at last, “ that it is all 
a matter of law — that when a child is an idiot it is 
not God what made him so, but what you call the law 
of life.? ” 

“ It is God who has made him so,” answered Bram 
quietly, “ but because he could not help but make him 
so. If the father or the mother or the grandparents or 


Weighed and Found Wanting 237 


the great-grandparents had not had the seeds of idiocy 
in them, the child would not have been an idiot.” 

“ But you are denying that God is all powerful, 
Bram,” persisted Berend, still hoping that the boy 
would qualify his statements. 

Bram tried to make clear that the law of life is also 
the law of God ; but Berend could not understand. The 
boy became passionately earnest. He liked Berend and 
he wanted him to understand — almost as much as he 
had wanted his mother to understand. But Berend 
returned again and again to his one answer: 

‘‘ But that’s the same as sayin’ that God ain’t all 
powerful.” 

“ ja, that’s exactly what it is,” broke in Bas- 
tiaan ; “ why, that’s worse than throwin’ a girl over for 
such a Baptist girl.” 

“ Very much worse,” admitted Berend Poppema. 
“ Do you understand, Bram, what this will mean.^ We 
as members of the consistory are servants of God and 
we must do his will, no matter how it hurts.” 

Bram understood. During the last few moments he 
had suddenly come to realize all that it would mean. 
For many years he had looked upon the ministry as his 
life work. It had seemed the only possible career open 
to him. His mother had passionately desired it. His 
uncle had confidently expected it. All his neighbors at 
the Five Corners had held him in high esteem because 
of it. Most of his friends in De Stad thought of liim 
in no other light than a future minister. But in a flash 
he saw all this change. He would be disgraced by the 
consistory. They would repudiate him because he had 
not kept the faith. His neighbors at the Five Comers 
would look upon him with horror as one who had lost 


238 


Bram of the Five Corners 


the true belief in God. His uncle would taunt him with, 
“ I told you so many a time,” and his mother’s heart 
would be broken. 

“ Do you hold by all what you said here? ” Berend 
Poppema gave him another chance. It was a bitter 
moment for Berend. 

Bram was white and his voice shook. He crushed 
his handkerchief in the palm of his hand. 

“ I believe all I have said,” he answered almost 
inaudibly. 

“ Then we’ll have to take the first steps for putting 
him under censuur^^ said Bastiaan Kuiken, and there 
was a suggestion of triumph in his voice. His prayer 
had been vindicated ! 

“ I fear there is no choice,” said Berend. ‘‘ I came 
expecting that the worst would be a reprimand. But 
this is much worse than I ever dreamed.” 

Bram sat with bowed head, like a prisoner in the 
dock. 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE VOICE THAT SAID “ AMEN 


ROUW POPPEMA had been anxiously waiting for 



V her husband’s return from the consistory meeting. 
She could not understand why it should take men so 
long to dispose of a perfectly simple piece of business. 
Could anything be more plain than that Bram Meester- 
ling’s conduct had been such that he should be sub- 
jected to rigid church discipline? And that fact hav- 
ing been established, why should it take four men till 
nearly ten o’clock to come to a decision in the matter? 

Vrouw Poppema was an ardent advocate of the local 
dogma that it is unseemly for women to be prominent 
in the affairs of the church. She did not know any- 
thing about the feminist and anti-feminist movements; 
but she had at her fingers’ ends several passages of the 
Bible that proved her contention that women should 
have no voice whatever in the government of the church 
or in conducting it. She went so far as to frown on a 
woman teaching in a Sunday school. But in her heart 
of hearts she believed that she could do much better in 
most of the situations that arose in the church govern- 
ment than her husband, or any of the other men for 
that matter. 

“ Well, ” she asked impatiently when Berend 
finally entered the room and gravely and deliberately 
removed his cap. Berend had a preoccupied look. He 
appeared not to hear his wife’s question. Removing his 


[239 1 


240 


Brarti of the Five Corners 


shoes he sat for a moment absent-mindedly dangling one 
of them by the back-loop, his elbow resting on his knee. 

Vrouw Poppema was exasperated. But long associa- 
tion with her husband had taught her that a show of 
temper would not gain her the information she desired. 
Still she could not keep the sharpness out of her voice 
when she said: 

“ Seems to me you might say somethin’.” 

J a — what shall I say.'^ ” answered Berend slowly. 

“Say? What shall you say? For goodness sakes, 
what is there to say but what happened at the con- 
sistory meeting? ” Vrouw Poppema’s temper got the 
best of her. 

“ Ja, but it’s all so strange and so unexpected ; I 
don’t know yet what to think of it. It’s a queer busi- 
ness.” 

“ Just as I thought,” was his wife’s deduction — 
“just as I thought: didn’t do nothin’ to Bram. Let 
him talk you all over.” Vrouw Poppema’s tone was 
charged with utter disgust. 

“ It wasn’t nothin’ like what you thought it was,” 
Berend continued, ignoring his wife’s remark ; “ it 
wasn’t nothin’ of the kind — nothin’ of the kind.” 

Vrouw Poppema flared up at this. 

“ What nothin’ of the kind ? I knew you’d come back 
with that story. Men can’t never see no further than 
their noses is long. Didn’t I tell you I found out every- 
thing about it ; and didn’t I let you know all I’d found 
out? Nothing left for you to do. And here you come 
back with ‘Nothing to it!’ It’s as plain as the nose 
on your face he threw Hat over for that Baptist girl 
in De Stad. And him learnin’ for dominie! If that 
ain’t schandalig I’d like to know what is. But you men 


The Voice that Said '^Amen’" 


241 


are so easy talked over. Anyone can blow you over 
like a feather.” 

Berend waited patiently till she had had her say and 
had given all her deductions. Then he said quietly. 

“ We took the first step tonight for puttin’ Bram 
under censuur** 

For once Vrouw Poppema was shocked into silence. 

“ /a,” continued Berend in the same quiet tone, “ he 
says as how God ain’t almighty; and we couldn’t do 
nothin’ else.” 

“ God ain’t almighty 1 He said that! ” Vrouw Pop- 
pema stared at her husband in amazement. It was so 
preposterous that for a moment she had a fleeting sus- 
picion that something had hapjiened to Berend. Also 
it seemed so far removed from the real reason of Bram’s 
being summoned by the consistory that she could imag- 
ine no connection. 

“ Ja, he says as how Hat Wanhope comes from, stock 
what is just a little crazy.” 

“ Crazy ! Did he say crazy.? ” She looked at Berend 
more sharply now. Could there be something wrong.? 
What could Hattie’s stock have to do with God being 
almighty .? 

“ Berend ! ” said Vrouw Poppema sharply. Her hus- 
band glanced up and surprised a look of fear on his 
wife’s face. 

“ Well, nUy what’s the matter.? ” he asked, startled out 
of his calm. 

“ You talk so queer. What in the world are you 
talkin’ about.? Tell me that. What’s all this talk about 
crazy, and what’s that got to do with Bram and Hat 
and with God bein’ almighty? That’s what I’d like to 
know.” 


242 


Bram of the Five Corners 


Berend groped about for words to make clear to his 
wife what Bram stood convicted of through his own 
admissions. 

“ You see, we would never have got it out of him if 
it hadn’t been for Bas Kuiken. But Bas, he’s been 
talkin’ to Bram’s Oom Bartel in De Stad, and he had 
told him as how Bram stood. I can see how Bram 
wouldn’t say nothin’ about it, seein’ as how it was much 
worse than if he’d thrown Hat over for another girl in 
De Stad. For that we could have reprimanded him. 
But it ain’t a case of doctrine exactly, and we couldn’t 
have started censuur proceedings for it.” 

“Ja, but what did he say.'^ ” Vrouw Poppema 
prompted her husband impatiently. 

“ Well, when Bas had given it away anyhow Bram 
comes out for it. He says as how there was a — what 
he called a taint in Hat’s family. Had come down from 
one generation to another, maybe years and years back, 
so far it couldn’t be remembered. He didn’t say it in so 
many words as how Hat got it too, but I could feel 
that he meant that.” 

“ What? Hat Wanhope crazy? ” 

‘‘ He didn’t call it crazy exactly. He had some 
pretty big words for it. But I gather that it all comes 
down to bein’ plain wrong in the head.” 

Vrouw Poppema considered this astonishing informa- 
tion for a moment. 

“ But what’s all that got to do with God bein’ 
almighty? ” she asked presently. 

“ Can’t you see that ? He says as how it would be 
wrong for him to marry Hat because — because — ” 
Berend hesitated a moment. He had no adequate 
vocabulary for a free and unembarrassed discussion of 


The Voice that Said '"Amen’* 


243 


the intimate facts of life. “ Well, he says as how his 
children is sure to be wrong in the head too — maybe 
only a little and maybe very bad. Says it’s as sure as 
that two and two makes four. He told us there was no 
escape from it. I asked him if God can’t prevent it; 
and then he said a lot about what he called the law of 
life and such other things. But we gathered that it all 
was the same as sayin’ that if a child is born an idiot it 
ain’t God what made it happen so, but the ancestors 
of the child, maybe many generations back. I was 
readin’ in Het Weekblad the other day that such a thing 
is what’s called humanisme. And I never would have 
believed that Bram would come to that.” 

Vrouw Poppema again meditated for a moment. 
Then she said in a tone that was not free from a cer- 
tain awe: 

“ Heden! Heden! ” 

It was not Bram’s fault that his reason for dealing 
with Hattie Wanhope as he had done became common 
property at the Five Corners. He had wished to con- 
ceal it from all save his mother and Oom Bartel. He 
had wished to shield Hattie. But it had been forced 
from him. And now that Vrouw Poppema knew it there 
could be no further chance for concealment. But the 
fact that it had not been he who had revealed it made 
it none the less hard to bear that it had become a mat- 
ter of common gossip. 

Bram could not find it in his heart to blame the folk 
of the Five Corners for being shocked at what they 
considered dangerous heresy. He remembered that but 
a few months ago he himself would have considered it 
heresy. He remembered that he had believed himself 
standing on firm ground and that from that high eleva- 


244 


Bram of the Five Corners 


tion of supposed security he had looked down somewhat 
disdainfully on all who had not held the same opinions 
he had held and in the same way. Humanism versus 
Calvinism — he had heard that phrase repeated again 
and again ever since his boyhood. Since Calvinism was 
indisputably the true and correct philosophy of life, 
humanism, being in sharp antithesis to it, must neces- 
sarily be all wrong. At the end of that reasoning he 
had always placed a mental quod erat demonstran- 
durrty and it had always fully satisfied him. But now 
he was asking himself, was humanism really in antith- 
esis to Calvinism And even if it was, what was to 
be done with a human problem like this.? Was he to 
desecrate the most sacred relation of life because of the 
tyranny of a word or a phrase or a philosophy of life 
even .? 

It could hardly be expected of the people of the Five 
Corners that they would understand. Nor could he 
expect that they would judge him in the spirit in which 
his mother judged him. He had always been on a 
pedestal in their mental picture of him. The fact that 
he was destined for the ministry had made him a being 
apart. Their imaginations had clothed him in the dig- 
nity that pertained to that holy office, even at the time 
when he had been a mere boy. And now when sud- 
denly this garment of supposed holiness dropped from 
his shoulders, revealing him to their eyes as one made 
of common clay, or rather of inferior clay, it was not 
to be wondered at that they should spit upon him and 
repudiate him. They could not help but take revenge 
for having been tricked into worshiping at the shrine 
of one who had not been found worthy. 

But Bram very humanly felt the reproach of his 


The Voice that Said ''Amen'' 


245 


neighbors keenly. Their horror of him was so genuine 
that he could not help but feel guilty. Fortunately 
most of his time was spent in the De Stad. But even 
that had its disadvantages. He was afraid for his 
mother. If the action of the consistory should reach 
her ears he shuddered to think what the result might 
be. She was gradually becoming weaker. While at 
home himself he guarded her against all intruders ; and 
when he left for De Stad on Monday morning he gave 
the hired-girl to understand what would be expected of 
her as watchdog. But he took further precautions. 

“ Anton,” he said, “ whatever you may or may not 
think of me and of what the consistory has done is 
beside the point now. But you know as well as I do 
that mother can’t stand being told about it, and I look 
to you to prevent it. If I find that anyone does tell her 
I won’t answer for the result. You might as well give 
people to understand that.” 

“ J a, it’s hard enough for me, what is healthy and 
strong, to bear the shame of it, to say nothin’ of 
mother,” was Anton’s reproachful answer. 

But after all Bram found that his precautions were 
quite superfluous. He did succeed in preventing people 
with supposedly good intentions from approaching his 
mother with the story of his disgrace. But he had not 
reckoned with himself in the presence of feminine intui- 
tion. In the end it was Bram himself who told A^rouw 
Meesterling what the consistory had done. 

He had been gone all week and on Friday afternoon 
he hurried to her bedside. He saw with alarm that a 
marked change had come over her during the days he 
had been absent. The face was more drawn and hag- 
g^ard and she talked with greater effort. 


246 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ Bram, mijn jongen'* she said after they had talked 
commonplaces for a while, “ the neighbors are talkin’ 
about you — about this trouble, I suppose ? ” 

“ Yes, mother, what else can you expect? They mis- 
understand my motives, of course ; they could hardly do 
anything else.” 

He forgot for the moment that she herself was unable 
to understand his motives, or at least could not sym- 
pathize with them. 

“ But that will hurt you,” she continued. 

Bram did not answer. 

“ You have been a great comfort to me, Bram. I 
know that your father would have been proud of you 
if he had lived to see you grown up. It has been the 
great hope of my life to see you standin’ in the pulpit 
in our own church preachin’ to the people of the Five 
Corners. And it was the hope of my life mostly because 
I know your father would have wished it so.” 

Bram pressed her emaciated hand to make her feel 
that he understood. 

“ But I shall never see you in the pulpit now, Bram,” 

“ Mother!” 

“No, mijn jongen, I shall not be here then — even 
if you go right on.” 

Never in all his life had Bram so passionately desired 
anything as he now desired to set his mother’s mind at 
rest. To be able to assure her that most certainly he 
would go right on without interruption; to be able to 
tell her that he had been all wrong about Hattie and 
that he was going back to her; to assure her that all 
would come out as she had hoped! For a moment he 
had a wild impulse to make the effort, merely to give 
her temporary peace. But he knew it would be impos- 


The Voice that Said *'Amen^' 


247 


sible. She would intuitively detect the lie, and he would 
be making it harder for her instead of easier. 

“ But even if I had lived and even if you should go 
right on in school, I would never have seen you preach 
in our church. Our people are all against you.” 

Bram looked at her in alarm. 

“ Who’s been talking to you, mother.^ ” he demanded. 

“No one, Bram — no one’s been talkin’ to me, but I 
know ; and even if I didn’t, your face tells me all. And 
they don’t know you as I know you, Bram. They will 
think you are all wrong because you are wrong in this 
one thing.” 

Bram sat staring at the wall in dumb misery. 

“ And then some day they will find out that it ain’t 
for another girl that you threw Hattie over, and 
then — ” 

She stopped in alarm, arrested by the sudden pallor 
that came into B ram’s face. 

“ They already know ? ” she whispered, half question- 
ingly, half as a positive statement. “ Bram, they 
already know.? ” 

Bram knew now that it would be useless to deny it. 

“ Yes, mother, they already know. You remember I 
told Oom Bartel. I thought he had a right to know 
my reasons ; he has always been a kind of guide to me. 
Bas Kuiken somehow learned it from him, and when he 
brought it up against me at the consistory meeting I 
made a clean breast of it.” 

But the next moment Bram felt that he would rather 
have bitten out his tongue than admit as much as he 
did. 

“ At the consistory meeting, Bram — did you say at 
the consistory meeting.? ” 


248 


Bram of the Five Corners 


Bram did not answer. He could think of nothing to 
say. 

“ They called you up before the consistory.? ” 

“Yes, mother, merely to explain my point of view; 
that’s all.” 

“ And when you explained it to them — told them all 
that you told me — they didn’t agree with you, of 
course. They thought it much worse than if you had 
thrown over Hattie for another .? ” 

From Bram’s silence Vrouw Meesterling gathered that 
she had guessed correctly. 

“ And then they — ” She stopped in the middle of 
the sentence, arrested by a thought that was like a stab 
in her heart. It made the deathly pallor of her face 
become more deathly. Bram knew what she was going 
to say next, and he awaited the words as a condemned 
criminal might await the fatal wrench of the rope. 

“ Bram — they didn’t — they didn’t — put you 
under — under censuur? ” 

Again Bram’s silence was an answer more eloquent 
than words could have been. And he knew that his 
answer hurt her more cruelly than the most refined 
torture could have done. 

It was probably a quarter of a century since any- 
one at the Five Corners had been placed under 
censuur by the consistory. Only about once in a gen- 
eration did any one persist in wickedness so stubbornly 
that it was deemed necessary to take this extreme step. 
But this weapon of punishment in the hands of the con- 
sistory always hung over the people of the congrega- 
tion as a club. From the time the child began to 
distinguish between good and evil until he passed into 
the irresponsibility of dotage he felt that he was always 


The V oice that Said Amen 


249 


in the shadow of it. It meant social disgrace and 
ostracism. 

And this blow had fallen on her boy. It had fallen 
on the boy whom she had always looked upon as a very 
special gift from her dead lover to her, because of 
whom she had counted herself blessed among women. 

Bram knew that all this was in the mind of the sick 
woman as she lay staring in mute agony at the low 
ceiling. He knew that it was the bitterest moment of 
her life, and he was powerless to alleviate her suffering. 
After what seemed a long time to both Vrouw Meester- 
ling spoke again, quite calmly: 

“ That means, Bram — that means that you must 
give it all up: never preach to the people of the Five 
Corners — never preach at all — throw it all over — 
do something else.” 

Still Bram was silent. But her son’s silences had 
always been eloquent to Vrouw Meesterling, as her hus- 
band’s silences had always been full of meaning for her. 

“ Bram, mijn jongenJ"^ Her voice was low and ten- 
der, as Bram remembered it had been when he was a 
mere child. He was still her baby; and now that she 
was approaching her great change she again felt the 
awe of her child, who had become a man full of learn- 
ing, fall away from her. “ Bram, mijn jongen, there is 
still another way, if you will but take it. And it is 
the right way, the only right way. I know that some 
day you will take it; some day you will come to see 
idiat it is the only right way. God does not change. 
He is the same now that he was twenty or thirty or 
sixty years ago. You are wise and learned, Bram, but 
He is wiser. He is the beginning of all wisdom. You 
will see all this some day, perhaps soon. I know you 


250 


Bram of the Five Corners 


will, because you are good and true ; you could not be 
wrong for long. But you could take that way out now, 
Bram — now, even before I leave you. Don’t let your 
pride stand in the way. When you come to be where I 
am now you will know what a little thing pride is after 
all. Bram, that would make it all straight.” 

Bram could not meet his mother’s eyes. He had a 
vague fear that the appeal in them would unnerve him 
and make him promise something that would mean 
death to his soul’s ideals. And he knew further that 
his mother could not understand what she was asking 
of him, or she would not be asking it. She was a good 
woman, the best woman Bram had ever known. But 
on this subject she and he spoke different languages. 
The words they used did not mean the same to each. 
What to him was the law of God because it was the law 
of life was to her a sacrilege and a reproach to the God 
she had learned to look upon as the same “ yesterday, 
today and forever.” The ideals of one generation could 
not adjust themselves to the ideals of the next. He felt 
it to be the greater loyalty to her to refuse the request 
of which she could not know the full meaning, and to 
promise himself always to attempt to live up to the best 
light he had. 

But Vrouw Meesterling was fighting for her boy. 
Soon she was to meet her dead lover face to face, and 
she was making a desperate fight to be able to tell him 
she had kept the faith and had brought their boy to 
the manhood that the father would have wanted. And 
that meant the fulfillment of the dream she had cher- 
ished for years. She could see him now standing in the 
pulpit, tall and straight, strong with the strength of 
essential manhood, full of the fire of service. She could 


The Voice that Said ''Amen'^ 


251 


see the upturned faces ; she could feel the electric thrill 
that passed through the congregation as this boj who 
had grown up among them opened his mouth to deliver 
the message. 

Something of all this she conveyed to Bram and every 
word was a stab. Pride ! As if pride could be of any 
account in a situation such as this ! He would have 
been willing to humiliate himself, so that for the rest 
of his life all men would despise him, if only he could 
have said to the dying woman, “I’ll do as you say,” 
lifting the burden from her heart, driving trouble from 
her eyes. 

The struggle that was waged in that low-ceilinged 
sickroom between Bram Meesterling and his dying 
mother left its mark permanently on Bram. He 
received wounds there that left scars forever. Some- 
thing of the buoyancy of youth passed from him, never 
to be recaptured. He had believed that before this he 
had sounded the depths of misery. But all that had 
gone before now seemed unimportant and small. He 
did not know that the smaller battles had strengthened 
his fiber so that he should be able to meet this crisis, 
and that still more would be demanded of him. But 
that he had fought this battle for the faith that was in 
him, against the mother who had given him being and 
whose breasts had fed him, remained henceforth a guar- 
antee to his own soul that he had gained a height from 
which he could see with clear vision that the comfort 
of the individual soldier is as nothing compared with 
the welfare of the army of God, and that the race of 
man cannot attain to the full stature of physical and 
spiritual manhood unless each man is willing to submit 
himself to the law of life. 


252 


Bram of the Five Corners 


A week later Vrouw Meesterling died. Her last look 
Bram interpreted as a desperate plea. But even while 
it wrung his heart there was something in him that 
could say “ Amen ” to what he had done. The indi- 
vidual must die sometimes that the race may live. And 
even the happiness of a man’s mother is not a sacrifice 
too terrible to make to help men to gain a larger knowl- 
edge of the law of God. At least so said something 
deep down in the consciousness of Bram Meesterling 
that could say “ Amen ” to what he had done, even 
while he would gladly have died if by so doing he 
could have given the dying woman peace. And that 
something that sustained him he recognized as having 
been awakened in him years ago by a minister who had 
believed that his life had been a failure. 


CHAPTER XX 


NO BALM 


ROUW POPPEMA and Berend her husband never 



V failed to attend the graduating exercises of the 
Theological Seminary in De Stad. It was a duty that 
they felt they owed their denomination, and it was a 
pleasure as well. It gave them an opportunity to listen 
very critically to the addresses of the young men who 
were now looked upon as finished products. The ortho- 
doxy of the young student would always bear watch- 
ing; and both Vrouw Poppema and Berend felt their 
duty weighing heavily upon them. 

But there was a special reason why on this particular 
evening they felt impelled to attend the exercises. If 
circumstances had been different, if Berend and his 
associate members of the consistory had not found it 
their duty to put Bram Meesterling under censuur 
three years before, that young man on this eventful 
evening, would have stood up before the congregation 
of the people to deliver his message and to be inducted 
formally into the office of the gospel ministry. 

During the three years that had elapsed since Bram’s 
disgrace the people of the Five Corners had constantly 
reminded themselves of the Bram who might have been. 

“ He would have been well on in theology by this 
time,” Jan Hendrik Blickman might remark. 

“ Jay Bram was always smart in school, I must say 
that. He would have got along with the rest of the 


[263 ] 


254 


Bram of the Five Corners 


class, even if they do push ’em hard in the Seminary,” 
might be the answer of Berend Poppema. “ Too bad 
that boy went wrong. I always liked him; but them 
modern tendencies are verderfelijk.^* 

Or, “ He would have been half through,” another 
would contribute. 

And when the final year of the course had come the 
people of the Five Comers kept themselves busy calcu- 
lating how many more months would elapse before 
Bram Meesterling would have graduated — that is, if 
he had not been caught in the stream of modernism 
which had swept him from his feet and had dragged 
him under. 

When the evening of graduation finally came there- 
fore most of the people of the Five Corners were pres- 
ent in the audience that had come to listen to the young 
ministers. Even Anton, who had hung his head in 
shame for three years because of the disgrace that had 
fallen on the family, did not stay away. Roelof Hilsma 
and most of those who had taken part in the encounter 
at the bridge felt that they must show by their pres- 
ence that they were not unmindful of the fact that this 
evening might have been a memorable one — that but 
for certain events a son of the Five Corners might this 
night have been standing in the pulpit conferring honor 
upon the community from which he had sprung. 

Hattie Wanhope too was there, not because she felt 
a deep personal interest in the exercises but for the 
very sufficient reason that everybody else went. She 
was given a place on the Poppema platform buggy on 
the way home. She and Vrouw Poppema occupied the 
back seat, and Berend sat alone on the front seat 
driving. 


No Balm 


255 


“ J a. Hat, did you call to mind how Bram would 
have been there this evening, if he hadn’t — gone 
wrong? ” 

Hattie answered somewhat sullenly that she had 
remembered the fact. During the three years that had 
elapsed since Bram had broken their engagement she 
had changed but little. Her face was still thin and 
pretty, in sharp contrast to the rather squat faces of 
most of the other girls of the Five Corners. She still 
giggled a great deal, and often there was an unmis- 
takable note of hysteria ringing in it. Though twenty- 
six years old, she was still easily pleased with the things 
that had pleased her as a young girl in her early teens. 
She did not distinguish very clearly between falsehood 
and truth. She was hardly more capable of preparing 
herself for any possible future that might be in store 
for her than her father, Chris Wanhope, had been 
capable of remembering in the evening that kindling 
wood would be needed the next morning for building 
the fire in the kitchen stove. She still loved ribbons 
and rings and trinkets. This indeed is not unusual for 
a woman of twenty-six; but while usually the normal 
woman of that age, even though of small culture, has 
learned to admire the subdued colors, Hattie Wanhope 
was still passionately fond of the glaring ribbon and 
the gaudy trinkets of early girlhood. And partly 
because her mother was beginning to give up hope in 
her unequal struggle, but largely because Hattie had 
not grown up, this woman of twenty-six had begun to 
neglect her clothes, while still taking delight in the gaudy 
trimmings. She lacked the stamina required for neat- 
ness, and she did not always “ wash clean.” The aim 
of Chris Wanhope in spitting into the open door of the 


256 


Bram of the Five Corners 


kitchen stove at a distance of six feet was no better 
than it had ever been; and Hattie was daily becoming 
more organically a part of the household of her father. 
She had never seriously struggled against its filth and 
squalor. For many years her mother had made the 
struggle for her. But now that Vrouw Wanhope was 
giving up the battle, her daughter was slipping back 
into the native grime by the very law of her being. 

Neither she nor her mother realized that there had 
been any deterioration. And even Vrouw Poppema, 
whose favorite occupation when she had no one to talk 
to was chasing dirt, did not see the process clearly. 
Or if she did, she conveniently accounted for it by the 
fact that Bram Meesterling had “ thrown Hat over.” 
To this cause were also ascribed the “ spells ” that 
frequently followed a fit of laughing. Whenever Hattie 
lost consciousness in hysteria, Vrouw Poppema said 
sternly that Bram Meesterling had much to account 
for. Hattie had failed to live up to Vrouw Poppema’s 
favorite prediction that she would “ go into consump- 
tion,” and the spells of hysteria became a fairly ade- 
quate substitute. 

Hattie’s body in all its elemental instincts rebelled 
against the fate that had overtaken it — the enforced 
celibacy against which every cell in her organism cried 
out. What she remembered was that if things had not 
taken the turn they had taken she would within a few 
days — weeks at most — have become a bride. Each 
one of the six young graduates was to be married 
before September. And she, Hattie Wanhope, was 
prettier than any of the prospective brides. She could 
not understand why this evil fate had befallen her. So 
when Vrouw Poppema asked her if she remembered that 


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257 


this was the night when Bram would have graduated 
she answered with a surliness that amounted almost to 
bittemess. But she was not thinking of his lost 
career. 

“ J a, Bram would have had a big church by this 
time,” Berend Poppema remarked, turning around to 
the women on the back seat. “ There’s two of them 
what got through tonight have churches right here in 
De Stad; one goes to New Jersey, one to Dakota, one 
to Chicago, and one way to the state of Washington. 
Bram could have had the best, better than any of them. 
I always said he was smart.” 

“ But even if a man is smart, if he ain’t straight and 
honest, it don’t help him nothin’,” Vrouw Poppema 
moralized. Berend sighed in acquiescence. He had 
been fond of Bram Meesterling, and the fact that it 
had been he who had been compelled to be instrumental 
in interrupting the boy’s course frequently weighed 
heavily upon his mind. This evening, because of the 
graduating of Bram’s former classmates, the thought 
of what the boy might have been had continually 
oppressed Berend. And yet he felt that he could not 
have acted otherwise. He had done what had been just 
and right. He had placed the service of God before 
friendship. He, too, had felt the bitterness of sacrific- 
ing one he loved to his ideals of life. And he did not 
feel even a glow of satisfaction for having made the 
sacrifice. 

“Bram never comes over.^” asked Vrouw Poppema, 
turning to Hattie. She knew well enough that Bram 
had been back at the Five Corners only twice since his 
mother’s death; but she asked the question to pave the 
way for another question. 


258 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ I ain’t seen hide or hair of him,” was the girl’s 
answer. “ Even when he did come home I didn’t come 
to see him.” 

“ And you been waitin’ for him all these years ! 
You’re still expectin’ him to come back one of these 
days ? ” 

“ Do you think he will ? ” There was a certain eager- 
ness in the voice of Hattie Wanhope. She spoke almost 
in the tone a child might use who naively asks if papa 
will ever return, weeks after she has seen him carried 
out by the mourners. 

“ Bram ain’t that kind, Hat,” said Berend Poppema, 
once more turning to take part in the conversation. 
“ If I was you I’d put him out of my mind.” 

This remark was in line with the thought that had 
been uppermost in the mind of Vrouw Poppema. 

“ I always say,” she said — “I always say, there’s 
plenty of fishes in the sea. Ain’t there others at the 
Five Corners.^ A girl like you is good lookin’ enough 
to be a juffrouWy I’ll say that much for you. But all 
can’t be ministers’ wives. What would the poor farmers 
do if they was.^ Some’s got to make up their minds to 
do the milkin’ and churnin’ and feedin’ the hogs. And 
let me tell you. Hat, bein’ a juffrouw ain’t all pie neither. 
There’s them what has told me that it has its trials 
just as good as on the farm.” 

Vrouw Poppema did not seriously believe what she 
was saying. Being a minister’s wife represented to her 
mind, as it did to the minds of all the women of the Five 
Comers, the very pinnacle of feminine greatness and 
dignity. But feeling that that dignity was impossible 
for Hattie, she was busy providing for her friend the 
next best thing. Vrouw Poppema was seriously con- 


No Balm 


259 


cerned about Hattie. The girl had reached the age 
of twenty-six and was still unmarried! 

“ Now there’s Roelof,” she continued ; “ always seemed 
to me he had an eye on you.” 

Hattie Wanhope giggled^ She liked the reference 
to Roelof. Several times she had felt his arms about 
her, and she had not forgotten the sweet experience. 

But something had held Roelof back all these years. 
At first it had been Bram — the fear that Bram would 
come back to the girl. Later, when all possibility of 
this seemed to have passed, there had been other 
obstacles. The story that Bram Meesterling had 
“ thrown Hattie over because she wasn’t right in the 
head ” was not without its effect on Roelof. Not that 
he objected to the fact itself, especially not when it 
was not more pronounced than in the case of Hattie. 
But he was afraid of the public opinion of the Five 
Corners. What his neighbors and friends might think 
weighed more heavily with Roelof than the truth or 
falsity of the rumor itself. 

Roelof had attained the age of thirty-five, and 
younger men than he had long since become the heads 
of families. As a supposedly confirmed bachelor he was 
sensitive to what people might say about this romance 
in which he was in danger of becoming involved. There 
was not in Roelof the splendid abandon to passion that 
the younger man indulges in — the spirit of “ the world 
well lost ” for love. Roelof calculated, and while he 
calculated he hesitated. At certain times, but not too 
often lest he become the butt of the jests of his younger 
brothers, he stepped over to the Wanhope farm, 
ostensibly to see “ how Chris was makin’ it,” in reality 
to see Hattie. And these visits did not lack their stolen 


260 


Bram of the Five Corners 


moments of bliss for her — and for him. For Hattie 
they made up somewhat for the loss of Bram. They 
might have made up for it entirely if Roelof had not 
considered it necessary for the sake of appearances to 
be extremely chary with his visits to the girl. 

“ Roelof was there tonight, wasn’t he.^ ” asked Hattie, 
interested in the subject. 

“ Ja, I saw him sittin’ a short ways back of us. What 
Roelof needs is a little more ginger. Now, he could just 
as well have come out and seen you home as us. I’ll 
have to take him in hand and talk to him.” 

“ Oh, will you ? ” Hattie giggled. And for the moment 
she forgot that the graduates of the evening would all 
be married before September. 

Bram Meesterling did not attend the graduating 
exercises of the class of which he might have been a 
member. Craik, the city editor of the had assigned 
the meeting to him ; but Bram had begged to be excused. 
And because Craik knew that Meesterling was not in 
the habit of begging off for trivial reasons he had trans- 
ferred the assignment to another. 

On the evening in question Bram walked the streets 
of De Stad, passing through distant sections of the 
town and not knowing that he was passing through 
them. He tried to think of other matters, but the past 
insisted on reconstructing itself in his imagination. 
That last look of despair and appeal of his dying 
mother three years ago he had never been able to forget. 
And on this night of all nights it came back with re- 
doubled vividness. He had done no wrong. There still 
was something deep down in his consciousness that could 
say ‘‘ Amen ” to what he had done. And during all 


No Balm 


261 


these years there never had been a time when that voice 
had been stilled. But the consciousness of having done 
right was not incompatible with the consciousness of 
being a failure. And on this night the sense of failure 
was poignant. He might have stood there and dominated 
the large audience with his eloquence. His name might 
have been on the lips of all his former neighbors. He 
might this night have been a prophet honored in his 
own country. But instead, there he was in disgrace. 

One by one the scenes of the past three years came 
crowding back as he walked the streets. He forgot 
where he was and he lived again in the past. 

It was the day after the consistory of the Five 
Corners had placed upon him the stigma of disgrace 
that Bram faced his uncle with full particulars, knowing 
that it would be useless to attempt concealment. Oom 
Bartel stormed and pleaded and stormed again. He 
brought all his stock arguments to bear on the case, 
and he dragged in all the church fathers whose works 
he was fond of perusing. Bartel Westerbaan was in 
his own inscrutable way fond of the boy. The mer- 
chant’s ambitions were all centered in his nephew. He 
saw in Bram what he himself might have been but for 
his fatal mistake, and he wanted to see his sister’s child 
take the place in the life of the church which he, Bartel 
Westerbaan, might have occupied. But Bram was deaf 
to all his uncle’s pleas. Bartel Westerbaan could hardly 
hope to succeed where Bram’s mother later failed. 

And so the student left the household of his uncle 
where he had spent eight years. There was no never- 
darken-my-door-again scene. In fact, Bram remained 
in his old quarters until after graduation from Christian 
College. Then he left to make his way somehow, doing 


262 


Bram of the Five Corners 


such work as he could find on the spur of the moment. 
He had never thought of any other profession than the 
ministry, and he found himself wholly unprepared to 
take up the struggle for bread and butter. Bram 
Meesterling was not of the resourceful type, made of 
such stuff as heroes of boys’ books are made of. He 
was not of the self-made man variety. His innate 
timidity stood in the way of all spectacular rising out 
of the wreck and snatching victory from defeat. Dur- 
ing the first months after graduating he made but a 
precarious living. 

He had deliberately thrown away his inheritance. 
In the absence of a will, his mother’s estate, consisting 
of an eighty-acre farm, had become the property of the 
three sons. Anton and Wilm occupied and cultivated 
the land. The natural course for them would have been 
to consider Bram’s interest an incumbrance on the farm 
and to clear it by paying the cash to him. When Anton 
as executor suggested this, Bram very quietly refused 
to consider it. 

“ I received my education from the farm,” he said. 
“ It was understood that I should enter the ministry. 
You and Wilm and mother made sacrifices for that. I 
find now that I can never live up to your expectations. 
Even mother died feeling that I had failed her. I am 
willing to give up all claims to the money if you will 
consider that my debt to you for my education is paid, 
at least as far as money can do it.” 

There was some protest from Anton, but it was not 
urged very strongly. Later he said to Wilm : 

“ Ja, there is somethin’ in that, too, Wilm. We slaved 
while he had a nice time in college. And now he has 
disgraced us.” 


No Balm 


263 


Anton and Wilm consequently took over the farm, 
and Bram was thrown on his own resources — nothing 
between him and starvation except what he might earn. 
It was a far cry from that condition to the honored 
profession to which he had looked forward for many 
years. Bram felt the humiliation keenly. 

“ What will you do next falLf^ ” 

That is the perennial question addressed to the young 
graduate everywhere ; and Bram found it embarrassing. 
But the embarrassment became poignant when Cordelia 
Elliot asked it at commencement time. 

“ Why — I think — well, to tell you the plain truth, 
I don’t know,” he said. 

“ I had understood you expected to go in for the 
ministry.” 

“ I had, but lately I — that is, I do not believe I’ll 
enter the Sem. Can’t all be ministers,” he concluded 
in an attempt at lightness. But he did not deceive the 
sympathetic girl. She knew intuitively there was 
tragedy somewhere in his decision. 

“ Your mother, Bram — I have been wanting to 
express my sympathy, but there never seemed an op- 
portunity.” 

Bram thanked her. They talked of college days with 
the passionate interest that the recent graduate feels 
in all that concerns the little world he is leaving forever. 

“ Do you know,” said she, “ your picture of your 
Ellis island minister has taken hold on my imagination. 
You remember you told me of him one evening. It 
was the first time I ever suspected you could be eloquent. 
Now there was work that was worth doing. It seems 
to me a man could give his whole life to that. It must 
be glorious to feel that one is helping a little in making 


264 


Bram of the Five Corners 


citizens. I wish papa could have known him. Those 
two would have been friends, I feel sure of that.” 

Bram did not answer. He was keenly conscious of 
having lost his grip. A long period of readjustment 
would have to intervene before he would again be able 
to hold up his head. He had thrown away the hopes 
and ambitions of a lifetime, and he could not in a 
moment reorganize his life and turn with enthusiasm to 
something new. Henceforth he would have to satisfy 
himself with second-bests. 

“ I am going into settlement work,” Cordelia con- 
tinued. “ John Baxter — the new Y. M. C. A. secre- 
tary, you know — has succeeded in finding something 
right here in the Polish district. I continue at my 
aunt’s. It may not be exactly a brilliant career, but 
it is work that I would like to do. At first I had 
intended to go back to Chicago to take up the work in 
my father’s settlement there. But there is no one left 
there who was closely associated with him, and I no 
longer feel toward it as I did when he was still living. 
This city is not large, but I think there will be a good 
deal of opportunity for work of one kind or another, 
don’t you, Bram.? ” 

“ Yes, I think so,” answered Bram. Who was he to 
give advice to some one else about a life work? 

“ Do you know, Bram, I have always thought that 
you might find that line of work worth doing. I never 
spoke of it because I was under the impression you 
were going into the ministry. But I felt that the 
ministry might not be so peculiarly your work as the 
more informal tasks that belong to the settlement, to 
the Ellis island work, to some kinds of Y. M. C. A. 
work. I know you will not take it amiss from an old 


No Balm 


265 


friend if I say that it has seemed to me that you did 
not have the social gifts that belong to the minister’s 
profession. You are not a ready talker, unless you are 
stirred by something. And don’t you think the question 
of personal fitness should be considered, the same as in 
any other profession? ” 

“ I suppose I’m not much good,” answered Bram 
with a shade of hopelessness in his voice. 

“ You don’t mean that, of course. You have a bril- 
liant career back of you in college, and there is a 
brilliant career waiting for you somewhere in the world. 
Even if it should not be brilliant, I feel sure that it will 
be honest and effective work you will do — work that 
will count in other ways than materially.” 

Bram was silent. 

“ I am taking unwarranted liberties in talking about 
your future. But do you know, Bram, your Ellis 
island minister has taken so strong a hold on me that 
I can’t help it. I know just what he expected of you 
and just what he felt. I can understand what it meant 
to him, dying in the strength of manhood, to feel that 
his ideals and hopes were to be carried forward by 
another. If those hopes should not materialize I should 
be disappointed, as I know he would be disappointed. I 
feel that I would like to see you be big and strong and 
do something that will really count. And, Bram, I 
won’t see so much of you now, I suppose, as I did at 
school. May I tell you at this — well, this sort of 
parting, that I am proud to have been your friend? ” 

Bram held out his hand, and both the hands that 
clasped shook a little. 

During all that summer Bram avoided Cordelia, as 
he avoided all who had been his friends. He was making 


266 


Bram of the Five Corners 


a hard fight to provide the necessaries of life, to saj 
nothing of doing work to help others. He was not fitted 
for the work he found. Finally, in desperate straits, 
as a misfit, he went to the office of the Sun, He asked 
for a job there solely because he needed new shoes and 
an overcoat. 


CHAPTER XXI 


EEADJUSTMENT 

T T was the thought of what might have been that Bram 
A Meesterling found hardest to bear. He had his little 
triumphs in the Sun office — triumphs which to another 
young reporter would have seemed like milestones in 
a career, bringing with them the glow of happiness 
that any success in a chosen work brings. To Bram 
they seemed a pitiful makeshift, a poor substitute for 
the real success that might have been his. If he had 
not met Hattie Wanhope years ago in the woods ; if she 
had not laid her arm across his shoulders and pressed 
a blackberry between his lips; if he had not felt the 
intoxicating bliss of first love under the stars when the 
fog hung low over the meadows ; if he had not taken her 
in his arms and felt the eager flutter of her body against 
his ; if they had remained strangers and had never loved 
“ sa kindly ” and “ sa blindly ” — 

At this point Bram always forced himself to desist 
following the picture further. It was all so futile and 
so useless. It was like a man who cannot sleep revolving 
in his mind again and again the problem that confronts 
him, with never a solution, and never getting nearer a 
solution. It was not even a problem with Bram any 
more. He had acted, and all that was left for him was 
to live with the fruits of his action. There was no 
escape from them. He would merely take up his burdens 
and trudge on as cheerfully as might be, putting as 
[ 267 ] 


Bram of the Five Corners 


268 


much heart into the tasks that confronted him as he 
could. At a time when other men dream of the home 
they are to make some day and of the woman who will 
bless it, Bram found himself in circumstances that made 
home and a woman impossible. But because of the very 
fact that they were out of his reach he desired them all 
the more. Often they seemed to him the only blessings 
worth striving for. He felt that all the great incentives 
of life had been taken away from him — his chosen 
work and wife and child and home and domestic hap- 
piness and joy in the good opinion of the friends and 
neighbors of his boyhood. And he desired all these 
things with a passionate desire that sometimes made him 
writhe as with a physical pain. 

The weeks passed and then the months, and the sense 
of loss deepened. Time heals most wounds, but there 
seemed no balm for Bram. Whatever forgetfulness of 
the past the days might bring him, the road he was 
traveling led nowhere. Hattie Wanhope was gradually 
receding. The first pain of the loss of her had gradually 
given way to pity for her — a victim of the law of life. 
Had he really loved her as he had believed at the time? 
Hattie’s face had been appealing, and her charm had 
held the boy. It had caught him when he was only a 
lad, and it had held him. What she had lacked in 
mental appeal his own imagination had supplied. He 
had dramatized his life and hers, and he had been more 
of a creative artist than critic. Of a wide charity and 
a childlike trust in the essential purity of human motives, 
he had always invented explanations for the girl’s short- 
comings. He had loved her. Possibly his boyish love 
for her might under different circumstances have 
blossomed into a love of a deeper meaning. Who shall 


Readjustment 


269 


say? The love of a man and a woman more often than 
not begins with physical desire, and even that desire 
is holy, for in it lies the life of the race. 

Though he knew regrets were vain Bram could not 
help but continue to dramatize what might have been 
— if he had been free and had met Cordelia Elliot, for 
instance, before she had met John Baxter. Bram allowed 
his imagination to play with the idea all the more freely 
because it could never be anything else than a sup- 
position. His own act had made this certain, as well 
as the fact that Cordelia had met John Baxter first. 
There had been an air almost of proprietorship about 
Baxter one night when Bram had met him for the first 
time, and at Cordelia’s invitation, at the home of the 
girl’s aunt. And it seemed to Bram eminently fitting 
that it should be so. Both Baxter and Cordelia were 
interested in the same things; both had the same ideals; 
both had the mental and physical strength that would 
beget physical and mental strength. They could be- 
come the parents of a race of vital men and women. 
In the old days kings had founded dynasties, and all 
bom from their loins had been considered bora to the 
purple. These two, John Baxter and Cordelia Elliot, 
might found another dynasty; and all who would be 
born from them, the children and children’s children 
even in the dim centuries of the future, had a chance 
to be bora to mental and physical vigor, as far as the 
founders of this dynasty were concerned. 

But if it had been given to him, Bram Meestelding, 
to be the founder of the line of men who should claim 
membership in such a dynasty because of the supreme 
gift of normality, what might life not have meant 
instead of its being the empty husk that he now found 


270 


Bram of the Five Corners 


it? Cordelia and he, together working out the destiny 
of their lives ! For a moment Bram allowed the picture 
to remain, and it thrilled him. Then he put it away 
from him almost viciously. It shamed him because^ it 
seemed a desecration of what must henceforth be the 
ruling purpose of his life. 

And yet, if everything had been otherwise ; if he had 
not loved Hattie Wanhope and she had not loved him ; 
if he had been free to choose, at the time when manhood 
with its infinite possibilities was opening out before him ; 
if the inexorable workings of the law of life had not 
caught him and held him and prevented him from travel- 
ing the shining road of domestic love and professional 
happiness — 

Bram sat with his hands poised over the key-board 
of his typewriter in the office of the Surly his eyes 
lighted up with an unnatural brilliancy. He had been 
writing mechanically while the pictures had come crowd- 
ing into his mind. Suddenly a thought, apparently 
coming out of nowhere but in reality in close sequence 
to his mental imagery, arrested him in the middle of a 
sentence. The hands remained poised, the fingers 
refused to find the letters. Then his head bowed over 
the machine and his hands closed over his eyes, shutting 
from view the sheet of copy on the roller. 

What if he had gained all he had hoped for — home, 
domestic happiness, and professional success — but at 
the expense of a compromise with the ideals that had 
become the guide of his life? Suppose Dominie Wijn- 
berg had never come into his life; suppose the minister 
had never lighted in his soul the passionate desire to 
attain to the full stature of manhood. And then if the 
realization had come to him of what it might mean to 


Readjustment 


271 


marry the girl he loved, as it had come to him now — 
the specter of mental weakness always rising up at the 
feast, the consciousness of paving the way for future 
generations calling him cursed — if all this had fallen 
out in this wise and he had solved the pressing human 
problem with a compromise; if he had done what so 
many others have done, so many who believe in the 
efficacy of a pious phrase, if he had yielded to the cry 
of desire and had left the issue to God — then what 
would he be now? He would be preparing himself 
for an honored career; he would be respected among 
men; he would see the avenues of work and usefulness 
opening before him; he would be showing other men 
the way to peace, but — would he be at peace with his 
own soul? Was it not better to be broken on the wheel 
while feeling himself in unison with the law of life, 
which is also the law of God, than to tread the path 
of honor and ease, and become a curse to unborn 
children ? 

For the first time since he had made his decision 
Bram felt something like exhilaration. Something in 
him had always said “ Amen,” but it had been a sad 
“ Amen.” It had been like the period to a tale that is 
told ; but now another voice was awakening in his heart, 
a voice that was beginning to clamor with a joyous 
“ Hallelujah,” born from the stirrings of a new found 
freedom, and big with the promise of ultimate peace. 

Even Craik, ihe city editor, knew that Bram had 
lived more than the other young men whom he sent out 
each day on assignments of life or death, of joy or 
sorrow, which they reported faithfully, but did not 
always know the real meaning of. Craik had discovered 
in Bram frequently a startling conception of the rela- 


272 


Bram of the Five Corners 


tion of things. He did not know about Dominie Wijn- 
berg ; he had never heard about Hattie Wanhope. None 
of the Sun force knew that this quiet young man whose 
work had decided individuality was living a “ story ” 
as well as writing “ stories.” 

Craik was working late at his desk, plying the scis- 
sors and a paste brush with the deftness of long prac- 
tice. His shirt showed the faint lines of invisible 
suspenders. The sleeves turned back from the wrists 
revealed a hairy arm which would be much whiter 
presently when Craik should come out of the bath room 
at home. His hair was tumbled, almost tangled, from 
running his fingers through it innumerable times during 
the day. A clergyman in dignified black coming upon 
him suddenly might have pitied him for the fate that 
kept him shackled to comparative squalor — he who at 
one time had left the university giving promise of a 
brilliant career; and yet Craik himself would have felt 
that he was as much of a teacher and preacher as the 
man of the cloth — with this difference that he spoke 
each day to sixty thousand while he of the Prince Albert 
coat never had an audience of more than five hundred. 

Craik was rather an exceptional man in many ways ; 
that is one reason why the Sim was rather an excep- 
tional paper. Craik took his work seriously, and he 
had the saving quality of being almost boyishly human. 
“ You will be a cynic inside of a year,” a close friend 
had told him when he had determined upon newspaper 
work years ago ; “ the close contact with the seaminess 
and sordidness of life can’t help but make a man such.” 
Craik had laughed his boyish unbelief. And now after 
seventeen years of it he still had the big enthusiasms and 
the unshakable beliefs in the honest motives of the 


Readjustment 


273 


average man. He looked upon himself as a missionary 
and a teacher in the great democracy of common men, 
and he unaffectedly assumed that there was as much 
real dignity in the squalor of his office-workshop as in 
the book-lined study that housed the man in clerical 
cravat. 

Bram withdrew his hands from his eyes. The office 
had become quite dark and the lines on the sheet of 
paper in the machine were becoming an indistinguish- 
able blur. Over Craik’s desk shone a green-shaded 
lamp. When Bram turned the switch of his own light 
Craik looked up. He had believed the office deserted 
but for himself. 

“ Hey, Meesterling, I thought you had left long ago. 
What’s keeping you ? ” 

“ I am trying to do a feature on the breach of 
promise; but I got to thinking about something else, 
and now I have only half a sheet of copy to show for 
an hour’s time.” 

“ What are you trying to play up ? Perhaps I can 
help you get back on the track.” 

“ Well, I thought that possibly there might be a story 
in the man. Our breach of promise law seems so absurd 
to me. It comes very near to legalized blackmail. And 
what justice do the courts render after all? Ten 
thousand dollars for a broken heart, which the very 
fact that the woman can drag her story into the courts 
proves is not even cracked! This Milvern woman, for 
instance — no one can seriously believe that she is 
really suffering. If Casson had been a poor man we 
would never have heard of the case. All the papers 
have been playing up her side of the story; I believe 
there is a story in his side.” 


274 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ Go to it,” cried Craik with enthusiasm, his eyes 
shining, the fatigue of the day falling from him in the 
joy of a new thought. Presently, as Bram continued to 
sit staring at the sheet in the machine without touching 
the keys, Craik looked up again. 

“What made you go in for newspaper work?” he 
asked, swinging around on his chair. 

Bram looked up in surprise. 

“ The reason I ask is,” continued Craik, “ you don’t 
seem to get the exhilaration out of it that the other 
boys do. To them a scoop or an unusual feature seems 
something real and worth while ; but it always seems to 
me you, do not get the pleasure out of them you might. 
All the more so because you have real ideas.” 

Bram did not answer for a moment. Then he said : 

“ I don’t exactly know. Just dropped into the busi- 
ness because I didn’t know what else to do. When you 
engaged me I had never been inside a newspaper office 
in my life. I might just as well have stumbled into a 
grocery store and become a clerk. And I suppose I 
am no more fit for this than I would be for that,” he 
added after a pause. 

“ That’s the queer part of it,” said Craik ; “ you 
have ideas, you have power of expression, but often 
you don’t seem to feel the artist’s joy in the work. 
This breach of promise feature, for instance. Not one 
of the other men on the force would have approached 
it as you did. Probably no one would have seen the 
relation of the facts they have reported to the faulty 
and haphazard social scheme; and I am sure that you 
can put life into the story of it, at least from that angle, 
better than any of the others. According to all the 
laws of psychology and all the traditions of the news- 


Readjustment 


275 


paper office your pulse ought to be going about a 
hundred and four now. The idea ought to be riding 
you at sixty miles per; but instead of that you are in 
the dumps, feeling yourself a square plug in a round 
hole. The marvel to me is that you can turn out really 
good work in that spirit.” 

Bram sat staring in front of him at the map of 
Michigan on the wall. A sudden desire to justify him- 
self in the eyes of his chief came over him. During 
the months he had been working for him he had dis- 
covered unsuspected sympathies in the man. 

Before he knew it he had told Craik the story of 
Dominie Wijnberg and of his own passionate desire to 
live up to the minister’s expectations ; of his years of 
preparation for the ministry ; of his uncle’s expectation 
of him ; of his mother’s looking forward to his standing 
in the pulpit, tall and straight and commanding; of 
the neighbors at the Five Corners honoring him for 
what he was to be. 

“ If you had for years and years lived in the expecta- 
tion of doing a work that seemed to you to be the only 
fulfillment of all your dreams and ambitions, and then 
suddenly should find yourself barred from it, do you 
think you would turn with enthusiasm to something 
else.? ” 

“ Probably not. If I should be compelled to enter 
the ministry, for instance — compelled to leave the 
paper, I might not consider life quite worth while.” 

Bram looked up in surprise. He had hardly ex- 
pected this ready sympathy. And the very illustration 
Craik chose startled him. It had never occurred to him 
that other men might feel the same way about their 
professions as he had felt about the ministry. The 


276 


Bram of the Five Corners 


ministry had seemed a work apart. The people of the 
Five Corners believed that a minister was ‘‘ called ” — 
that he entered the profession in conscious answ^er to a 
mystic summons. While Bram had never analyzed his 
feelings in regard to it, yet this belief of the people 
had not been without its force for him. 

“ You see, there is something that bars me. I had 
to give it up absolutely — ” 

He stopped, undecided as to whether to consider 
the subject closed. 

“Never mind that,” answered Craik; “I don’t care 
what it is. As I see it, you are disappointed because 
you believe you are not living up to the hopes of this 
minister and the hopes of your mother and uncle.” 

“ They wanted me to do the best, the very best, that 
life offers. Mother and Mr. Wijnberg are dead, but 
that doesn’t seem to relieve me of the responsibility.” 

“ You believe that they are conscious of what you 
are doing? ” asked Craik. The question did not sound 
incongruous on the lips of this man of wide sympathies. 

“ Yes — ” said Bram timidly. He never had been 
glib on the big subjects of belief. 

“ And you feel disappointed and defeated because 
you are not occupying the position which they expected 
you would occupy, when they were still here. But 
don’t you think, Meesterling — if they really know — 
that they are judging you by the standards that pre- 
vail there? Don’t you think that the spirit of the 
thing is all that will count with them? They expected 
you to be a real man, and if you are a real man — even 
though it be as a ditch-digger — don’t you think they 
will feel that you have in the true sense lived up to 
their expectatioijs ? ” 


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277 


Bram said something about the ministry being a 
holy calling. 

“ In that I can’t agree with you, of course,” was 
Craik’s decisive answer. “ Why should it be more holy 
or honorable than my calling, for instance Just as 
holy and just as honorable, I admit. But it isn’t the 
calling I lay stress on ; it’s the spirit in which the work 
is done. Each man can be a teacher and a prophet in 
his own line. The newspaper happens to be the line 
that I took to most naturally. And I would rather 
do this than occupj^ a pulpit, for the reason that I 
would rather have an audience of sixty thousand than 
of a few hundreds.” 

Craik took a turn about the office. He was launched 
on a subject in the discussion of which he took keen 
pleasure. 

“ What is the gospel of the Sunf ” he continued. 
“ Isn’t it the wide human charity that Jesus Christ 
himself preached When the red-light district was 
driven out last year, didn’t the Sun call attention to the 
fact that the women deprived of a livelihood were women 
with souls and that merely driving them out did not end 
the task.f^ The good people were throwing stones. I 
am not blaming them. They were sincere for the most 
part. They merely did not think. They did not realize 
that throwing stones is not all that is necessary. Christ 
treated the woman of the red-light district as a sister. 
And the Sun preached to sixty thousand people the 
gospel of doing the same. It was done imperfectly, I 
admit. Yet the sincere impulse was there to hold this 
course up as a not impossible ideal. The Sun^ or any 
other paper for that matter, is not regenerating society 
in a generation. I used to think it would, but I have 


278 


Bram of the Five Corners 


learned to readjust my ideas. There is nearly as much 
selfishness and uncharitableness here as there was seven- 
teen years ago when I began my work ; but not quite as 
much. I believe there is a narrow margin of advance. 
And that narrow margin gives me enthusiasm for going 
on. Neither for that matter does the minister in tjie 
pulpit regenerate even his small flock in a generation.” 

Craik talked as Bram remembered Dominie Wijnberg 
had often talked about Ellis island. The suspicion 
flashed into Bram’s mind that the minister would have 
been in sympathy with what the city editor was saying. 

‘‘ I suppose I see only the high worthiness of my own 
particular work, Meesterling,” Craik continued ; “ I 
dare say there are similar opportunities in many other 
lines. I am in some respects like the minister who be- 
lieves he is ‘ called,’ as you expressed it a short time 
ago. But are we not all ‘ called ’ — all who are con- 
scious of their real debt to the great democracy of 
common men.^ Why should only the man who stands 
in the pulpit on Sunday be looked upon as having a 
monopoly on the call of God.^ Why, Meesterling, by 
adhering closely to that standard, Jesus could hardly 
be looked upon as having been ‘ called.’ The pulpits 
of his day were for the most part closed to Him. He 
went direct to the publican and sinner with his message, 
to the harlot and the thief. If He were here today, 
isn’t it possible that He might deliver his message 
through the newspaper, because that’s the best avenue 
for reaching the people? Why is not that just as 
reasonable as to think that He would have spoken from 
a metropolitan pulpit to a few hundreds of correctly 
dressed men and women thinking of their Sunday din- 
ners? Mind you, I am not claiming that He would 


Readjustment 


279 


choose my method of preaching. I am merely denying 
the claim that you seem to think the pulpit is making.” 

Bram had nothing to answer. The feeling that 
Dominie Wijnberg was again speaking to him grew 
upon him, and he took an odd pleasure in listening to 
the city editor proclaiming his articles of faith. Craik 
sat down on his desk with his feet on the revolving chair. 
He proceeded to make clear his meaning and to illus- 
trate it with numerous examples. 

“ My uncle would probably call you a humanist,” 
said Bram, after Craik had told of the paper’s champion- 
ship of human rights — the rights of women, the rights 
of children, the rights of the man who cannot fight for 
his own rights. And Bram did not know that he smiled 
when he said it. How he had at one time respected 
that word “ humanism ! ” 

“ I don’t care what he would call it or what anyone 
else would call it. I am not in the habit of pigeon- 
holing my better impulses and refusing to act on some 
because I don’t know in which classification or section 
they belong.” 

“ Humanism is in sharp antithesis to Calvinism, and 
that is the philosophy of life on which I have always 
been fed.” 

“ I don’t know much about Calvinism,” answered 
Craik ; “ but I have nothing against it if it is com- 
patible with a wide charity and a faith in human nature 
— the faith that the Christ had when He sat down with 
publicans and sinners and broke bread with them. But 
if it means this placing of one class of men in a kind 
of holy of holies, I dissent from it. Why, Meesterling, 
a man is or ought to be bigger than his job, no matter 
how big his job may be. It isn’t so much the social 


280 


Bram of the Five Corners 


position which a profession gives that counts, but the 
spirit in which the work is done.” 

It had become quite dark in the room, but for the 
two patches of light from the electric bulbs with the 
green shades. The men had talked a long time and even 
the presses had ceased their pounding. 

“ It has seemed to me that you yourself have done 
a good deal of work of the teacher and of the preacher 
while you have been here,” continued Craik. “ Your 
features and news stories about this eugenics stuff are 
catching hold. At least half a dozen protests against 
them have appeared in the People’s Column, as you 
remember. That’s a sure sign that you are doing a 
lot of good. You are making people think. That is the 
first step in conversion. One protest is worth two 
commendations any time.” 

“ But I didn’t mean to preach,” said Bram. 

“ Exactly. If you had meant to you wouldn’t have 
hit the bull’s eye. You merely see this big question 
more clearly than others do; and you can’t help your- 
self from trying to make others understand it. The 
other boys on the force usually see nothing but the 
funny side of this race betterment question. And it has 
its funny side. But you seem to have grasped the fact 
that it bears a vital relation to the everyday human 
life in the humblest homes in the city, as well as in the 
homes of the wealthiest. An idiot is an idiot whether 
he is born in a palace or in a hovel; and if two royal 
idiots or near-idiots or even thirty-second degree idiots 
marry they are going to pass on to their offspring a 
heritage of abnormality, just as surely as if the mar- 
riage of idiots, near or far, takes place in the slums. 
The same law governs both. That’s something that you 


Readjustment 


281 


have grasped; and that you have expressed rather 
clearly and forcefully in your stories and features. 
Now isn’t that just as worthy as if the same truth were 
proclaimed from the pulpit? ” 

Long after Craik had left the office Bram remained 
sitting bent over his typewriter, his head resting in his 
hands. During the past year the great readjustment of 
his ideas had gone further than he had himself suspected. 
His ready sympathy with Craik’s doctrines proved this. 


CHAPTER XXII 


A DISCOVERY 

B efore the evening came when Bram’s former 
classmates graduated from the theological semi- 
nary he had, step by step, achieved a mental readjust- 
ment that had given him a fresh outlook upon the world 
of work. His tasks no longer seemed merely temporary, 
engaged in for food and clothes. He had begun to 
take joy in them. 

“ If I can succeed in increasing, if only by a little, 
the sum total of charitableness and human sympathy,” 
was his thought, “ is not that something worth strug- 
gling for? ” 

And there were many smaller rewards amply worth 
the trouble — opportunities that each day presented 
themselves to help some cause or some person; little 
lifts along the open road, forgotten almost before the 
toil of the day was ended, but all tending to make his 
sympathies wider and his life richer. 

And ever since his talk with Craik a thread of definite 
purpose had run through Bram’s work. The newspaper 
at first had bewildered him. It had seemed choppy and 
haphazardly hit-and-miss. He had not seen at first 
that one day’s output was connected with another day’s 
output. He had not understood that there was a definite 
theme running through from year’s end to year’s end, 
and that any departure from this theme was like a 
harsh discord in an orchestra. He had not understood 
[282 ] 


A Discovery 


283 


that not even Craik, or Parsons, the managing editor, 
or Henderson himself, the owner, could arbitrarily in- 
ject elements that did not harmonize with the main 
theme, without injuring the music. But gradually with- 
out being told Bram came to understand all this. 

“No one ever tells anyone this in a newspaper office,” 
explained Craik, when Bram told the city editor of his 
discoveries. “ If the worker does not find it out for 
himself he will never know it. And there are many 
who spend their lives within sound of the presses who 
never discover it. But for such the work can never 
become an art ; they can never make a religion of it.” 

Bram learned to distinguish between the personality 
of the Sun and the personality of the News and of 
the Post and of the Eagle. The Sunh personality was 
the personality of Henderson, reinforced by the per- 
sonalities of Parsons and Craik. 

Gradually Bram began to exert himself to make the 
Sun express in a small way also his own personality. 
He was but a cog in the wheel, but even as such he was 
not entirely powerless. 

“ All that is necessary is to remain in tune with the 
main theme,” he told himself. 

No one of his associates knew that he was living a 
“ story,” but why not make this “ story ” productive.^ 

“ Like every other city and village,” he reasoned, 
“ De Stad is full of only half-recognized tragedies, the 
result of clashes with the law of life — clashes in the 
dark, mistakes made blunderingly, with never even a 
faint recognition of the connection between cause and 
effect ; the victims and their friends and neighbors find- 
ing an all-sufficing explanation in the inscrutable rulings 
of an arbitrary God.” 


284 


Bram of the Five Corners 


Gradually Bram saw his special work mapping itself 
out before him. To do for the people the Sun was 
reaching what Dr. Victor had done for him ; to proclaim 
in words so simple that all could understand that the 
law of life is inexorable ; and to make clear that it also 
is beautiful and just, because it is the law of God — 
that seemed a task worthy of any man’s best powers. 

He did not preach. Though he had wanted to become 
a preacher, he found now that he had a horror of 
preaching. Years ago he had dramatized his boy love- 
life and had saved an imaginary Hattie from innumer- 
able imaginary dangers. His bent for drama was 
strong. And he made use of this faculty now. He 
dramatized the little tragedies and comedies all about 
him that had bearing on his main theme, letting the 
lesson take care of itself. He wrote the feature that 
even those people read to whom the editorial page means 
nothing. 

During all these years he had not seen Hattie Wan- 
hope. The girl still wrote to him at frequent intervals. 
Her poorly spelled letters Bram had come to expect. 
Roelof was still hesitating, and Hattie had not been 
able to persuade herself that Bram’s decision was 
irrevocable. 

Religiously each time and patiently Bram answered 
the letters, and always they contained the same 
promise. 

“ I must stand by her,” he thought. “ If she will 
remain unmarried because of me I must not fail her.” 

He had thought only of saving himself at first. He 
was thinking of her as well now. She must not bring 
ruin upon herself. 

“ What I’m thinkin’,” was frequently Vrouw Pop- 


A Discovery 


285 


pema’s comment whenever Hattie brought one of Bram’s 
letters to her for interpretation — “ what I’m thinkin’ 
is that Bram’s gone clean wrong in the head. That’s 
what I said from the very start. And if this don’t show 
it there’s nothin’ that will. You may be glad you’re 
rid of him in time, Hat. He might have gone crazy 
afterwards, and then you would have had somethin’ on 
your hands. A crazy father is bad enough, but a crazy 
husband is about as mol as you could have it.” 

Hattie Wanhope thought she would have been willing 
to take the chance. 

‘‘ The best thing you can do. Hat,” continued Vrouw 
Poppema, “ is to forget Bram Meesterling. And if 
Roelof knows what’s good for him he’ll make you forget 
him right quick.” 

Hattie giggled happily, the letters of Bram forgotten 
in the prospect that Vrouw Poppema suggested. 

A few weeks after he had written one of these letters 
Bram made a discovery that caused him a start of 
terror. The presses had just begun their booming in 
the basement below, the low reverberations penetrating 
even to the editorial rooms. A small group of reporters 
stood about, some with coats on ready to go home. 
The first copies of the Sun off the press were brought 
in. The men crowded about the table, especially the 
younger ones, eager to “ see how their stuff had been 
slashed.” Bram that day had a feature on a little 
comedy in the domestic relations court, which he had 
used as a text to drive home a real idea. It was illus- 
trated with the picture of the little girl whose droll 
answers had furnished the amusement. Bram was rather 
pleased with the make-up of the “ story.” He stood 
looking at it over the shoulder of one of the other men. 


286 


Bram of the Five Corners 


Some one turned the page. At the first glance at the 
next page Bram felt himself turn suddenly white, and 
a shudder ran through him. 

The others were not interested in that section and 
they hastily turned to the sport page. It was only a 
glimpse Bram had had, and he might possibly have 
been mistaken. But though he told himself so, in his 
heart he knew that he was not mistaken. His innate 
timidity prevented him from asking the others to turn 
back to the double column cut of which he had caught 
a passing glimpse. 

It was surrounded with a border of curlycues, and 
below was a blur of small type that Bram that been 
unable to read from where he stood. 

It was thus that the Sim frequently featured the 
marriage of prominent young persons in De Stad. 

After the first shudder Bram got a grip on himself. 

“ And why shouldn’t I feel glad ? ” he thought. “ I 
expected it long ago, and I am sure a nobler couple 
never deserved happiness. Their interests are the 
same; they are engaged in similar work; she can be 
a real mate to him and can help him wonderfully. 
Besides, they have known each other since childhood — 
romance began way back in school days; I know just 
how it is played up under the cut. Not necessary to 
read it: prominent young settlement workers, known 
and blessed by thousands who have found life brighter 
because of them. It’s the only way it could be played 
up. And if the chap who did the story missed anything 
I’ll find a way of supplying it.” 

With this generous resolve he dropped away from 
the group and sank into a chair. But his heart was 
heavy and the terror returned. 


A Discovery 


287 


“ I should feel glad,” he tried to reassure himself. 
“ Cordelia richly deserves it ; and I dare say so does 
Baxter, though I never got very close to him.” 

And then the question forced itself into his conscious- 
ness : Why had he, Bram, turned white and why had he 
shuddered ? 

“ I’m an unmitigated fool, of course,” was his glib 
rejoinder; “ let myself get stampeded by seeing the cut 
of a friend; was sort of taken off my guard. Quite 
natural to feel a little funny, having it hit me right 
in the face in our own paper and not knowing anything 
about it.” 

He appeared to be immersed in an exchange, but 
he did not see the type. And the colloquy with himself 
continued while the others were quarreling about the 
box scores. ^ 

‘‘ Of course, that was it — the suddenness of it. And 
I am sure I wish them happiness.” 

His lips did not say the words, although he thought 
them. Neither did his heart say the words. A sudden 
weariness overcame him. His feature about the little 
girl in the domestic relations court now seemed futile 
and foolish. A few moments ago he had been pleased 
with it. It had seemed very much worth while. He 
had felt the artist’s pleasure in the make-up and the 
poet’s pleasure in the driving home of a real thought in 
words that would take hold. But suddenly, the turning 
of a page, and in a flash all this was forgotten. The 
sweet morsel had turned to dust in his mouth. He 
thought with something like hate of the keys of his 
typewriter. The smell of ink nauseated him. The cry 
of the newsboys in the alley irritated him. 

“ I don’t know what’s struck me,” he continued. 


288 


Bram of the Five Corners 


He put away from him violently the feeling of depres- 
sion and he told himself that of course this was some- 
thing to feel glad over. Not exhilaration exactly; 
Cordelia and Baxter were not close enough to him for 
that, though he had known her quite intimately; but 
mildly glad, a slight brightening of the colors of the 
day. 

“ Can’t say either it was so very sudden, come to 
think of it. I saw it way back there at her aunt’s 
the first time I met John Baxter. I remember I told 
myself then there was an understanding; and I suppose 
I was not very far wrong.” 

But the terror returned, and the sense of the nauseat- 
ing futility of everything. 

What had he been afraid of and why had be turned 
white.? The start of terror had been involuntary. That 
is what made it impossible for Bram to reason it away. 

“ I wonder how it would seem if I were in John 
Baxter’s place — if there never had been any Hattie, 
and if I had met her before she knew Baxter? ” 

And straightway Bram returned to his old habit of 
dramatizing his life — in this case admittedly the life 
that could never be. He saw himself at the altar, 
standing tall and straight, as his mother had once 
imagined him in the pulpit. For the time being Bram 
was again the egoist that had made him so often the 
hero of his own dreams of the future. And Cordelia 
stood beside him. The tall and straight figure of Bram’s 
mental picture could not see the girl’s face, but Bram 
himself saw it — all the sweetness of it and the soft 
beauty ; the slight flush of the cheeks ; the half-question- 
ing wonder of the eyes; the dark hair which in the 
simplicity of its arrangement somehow expressed the 


A Discovery 


289 


fineness and the truth of her ; the white dress, almost 
ethereal in its shimmering daintiness, with the bridal 
veil enveloping her strong young body in a cloud of 
radiant purity ; the trembling eagerness of her hand 
extended to his ; the sweet sense of security and undying 
faith in the days and months and years of the future; 
the ecstasy of possession and the sweet glory of yield- 
ing; the glimmering sense of long vistas they would 
be forever approaching together — all this was in the 
picture, and Bram’s mind filled in the delicious details 
without volition. 

But suddenly across the scene, as in a defective reel 
of motion picture, appeared the face of John Baxter. 
And before he could compel himself to distinguish the 
illusion from the real Bram discovered that he hated 
that face with a consuming hatred. Then he sat up 
with a start. The dream picture vanished and terror 
gripped his heart. 

“ Oh, God, what a beast I am ! ” he said. 

And once at the point where he no longer deceived 
himself with words, Bram knew that he had loved 
Cordelia for a long time. The past years came crowd- 
ing back. There was the night when Cordelia and he 
had walked home from the lecture. He had told her of 
Dominie Wijnberg and Ellis island, and she had spoken 
with a beautiful eloquence of her life in the settlement 
in Chicago. That night, when he had arrived home, 
Bram recalled, he had felt guilty when he had seen the 
picture of Hattie Wanhope on the dresser; he had gone 
to sleep with tears on his cheek. 

‘‘ No, I wasn’t in love with her then.” Again he 
almost articulated the words. And there was infinite 
comfort in being able to say this without reservation. 


290 


Bram of the Five Corners 


But other scenes crowded upon him. During the 
three years that he had been with the Sun — the chance 
meetings on the street ; the stories he had written about 
her work in the Polish district ; the interest he had taken 
in all that had appeared about her in print — the mean- 
ing of it all came to him now with a blinding flash of 
insight into his own nature. His pitiless self-examina- 
tion revealed the fact that Cordelia Elliot had been 
very much in his thoughts during these years. Always 
she had been to him the embodiment of what might have 
been ; the strength of her — the vigor of body and the 
penetrating force of mind — had fascinated him and 
had involuntarily filled him with an acute longing, 
which at the time he had not understood. She had been 
absolutely beyond his reach; the tragic blunder of his 
own youth had put her absolutely out of reach. That 
is why he had never got beyond the almost elemental 
desire that birds on the wing may feel for one another 
— lost the next moment in the infinity of the heavens 
and losing each other in the bigness of the sun’s all- 
embracing eye. But he had loved her; he knew now 
he had loved her. 

Once more at a crisis in his life Bram suddenly 
discovered that he had traveled much further than he 
had known. All these months and years he had been 
advancing, and he had not known it. The image of 
Cordelia had stolen into his heart, and he had allowed 
it to remain there without knowing he was harboring 
it. And it had found warmth there and welcome and 
cheer and comfort. And the years had come, and the 
love of boyhood had become dim and meaningless, and 
the love of manhood had taken its place. When tragedy 
had come to him and had tumbled his life about his 


A Discovery 


291 


ears, when the path had seemed cheerless and life had 
seemed gray, there had always been a mental reserva- 
tion ; he knew it now though he had not known it then. 
Youth believes in miracles, and he was still a great ways 
from the tomb. He had felt eternal youth in his veins, 
and the impulse to live — to live the full, free life of 
the normal male — had been strong within him. Health, 
too, had been his, and what might not the surprises 
of life bring him.'* 

All this he had felt rather than thought, had felt 
elementally. It had registered itself in impulse apd 
desire, in the hazy dream-stuff of which is made up the 
inarticulate undercurrent of consciousness — the life 
within life, the thoughts within thoughts, the hopes and 
fears and desires, unconscious and but dimly sensed, 
the grayness of life or the brightness, too far off and 
intangible for words or thoughts even. But now it 
came flooding in upon him “ into every bare inlet and 
creek and bay ” of his consciousness, and every thought 
was a stab. 

Only a few weeks ago he had confidently repeated 
his promise to Hattie ! 

“ I’m a beast,” he thought. 

But now temptation was at least mercifully removed 
from him. The marriage of Cordelia and John Baxter 
would close the chapter, although the shame of his 
own love would remain to sear his soul in the long gray 
years that were before him. 

The others were still quarreling about the scores. 
Bram looked up dazed when he was appealed to. Not 
one there suspected that a battle had been fought in 
that room during the half hour that the reporters had 
been wanning up to their argument; so close is the 


292 


Bram of the Five Corners 


commonplace to the unsearchable, so near are tears to 
laughter. 

Bram answered mechanically that he believed Jack- 
son’s batting average would certainly remain in the 
lead. Then he picked up the copy of the Sun that the 
others had tossed aside. He pretended to be interested 
in his domestic relations court feature. In reality he 
was afraid to turn the page. 

When finally he did turn the page he looked at the 
familiar faces of Cordelia and Baxter for some moments 
before he grasped the significance of the “ head ” that 
ran over the two cuts in a “ box ” outside the border : 
“ Principals in the Polish Settlement Festival.” 

Bram sat back with an involuntary movement of 
relief. Then for a fleeting moment the Comic Spirit 
possessed his soul. His picture of the marriage of 
these two who had merely happened to work together 
for the success of a settlement festival! There was 
stuff there to make the gods break forth into . inex- 
tinguishable laughter. And Bram unconsciously smiled 
in sympathy with his no less unconscious picture of 
the lords of Olympus sitting about, holding their godly 
sides, their jolly, bearded faces furrowed with immortal 
merriment. 

“What’s you laughin’ at, Bram.^” asked Fellows, 
who had written the story about the festival. “ It’s 
pretty punk stuff, I admit, but the young lady ain’t so 
slow, I tell you. And her face in an article would 
make even a politician read one of the old man’s edi- 
torials. So I guess my stuff’s safe, even if it ain’t so 
nifty as it might be.” 

“ But you’re out of the running anyway,” broke in 
Jackman, making it unnecessary for Bram to answer. 


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293 


“ That guy next to her’s got the laugh on you, and 
he looks as though he kind o’ belonged where he is.” 

“ Not much — out of the running,” snapped Fellows ; 
“ what j a think it is — a weddin’? Nothing of the kind. 
He’s the guy that runs the Y. M. C. A., and he was 
helping her with the festival of the Polacks. Watch 
my steam when I make up my mind to sail in that 
direction. She’s as free and heartwhole as the flowers in 
May. And talkin’ about starts, I’ve got the start on 
you an3rway. Got introduced to her to get this story. 
That’s more than anyone else here can say. Nothing 
slow about her neither, I tell you.” And Fellows 
assumed the air of one who knows much more than he 
cares to tell. 

Bram had an almost uncontrollable impulse to strike 
him down and to stamp upon him and crush his face with 
the heel of his shoe. But he sat vacantly staring at the 
paper before him. 

“ Even if ’tain’t a wedding, seems to me that it might 
turn into that, and maybe we can use the cut again,” 
said Jackman. “ At least if yow have any show with 
that class I’ll get off the earth ! ” 

Long after the quarreling voices had ceased and the 
office had become deserted Bram sat motionless, the 
copy of the Sun trailing from his hand on to the floor. 
A short time ago he had almost bitterly thanked God 
that temptation had been put away from him and that 
the chapter was closed. Now the specter rose up before 
him again, and he knew that his biggest fight was still 
to be fought. And because he did not know his strength 
he dared not look at his own soul. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


EEVELATION BY TELEPHONE 

D uring the three years that he had been with 
the Swn Bram Meesterling had specialized, so to 
speak, on social service stories. Whenever a slum drama 
had to be written up Craik quite naturally turned to 
Bram. When the Y. M. C. A. made its memorable 
campaign for $200,000 it was Bram who handled the 
publicity end of it for the Sun. When the United 
Charities of De Stad asked for space Craik referred 
them to Bram and gave him charge of their copy. 
When typhoid swept the Polish district and a relief 
committee was organized to collect funds for the suffer- 
ing families it was Bram who was assigned the task 
not only of covering the situation with a “ feature,” 
but he was given charge of the copy supplied by the 
committee as well. Committees and organizations in 
search of press agent work for their various causes had 
learned to ask for him. He had the rare faculty of 
ready sympathy combined with a certain insight into 
underlying principles and causes that made him invalu- 
able to many an organization that depended for success 
on the public seeing its cause in the right light. 

Very frequently Bram had been assigned the task 
of “ featuring ” Cordelia Elliot’s settlement, as it had 
begun to be known. 

“ Do you know, Meesterling,” said Craik one day, 
“ that you have ‘ made ’ this Elliot woman ? ” 

[ 294 ] 


Revelation hy Telephone 


295 


Bram looked up from his typewriter in surprise. 

“ That’s exactly the word for it — you’ve ‘ made ’ 
her. What other young school girl could have climbed 
in a few years as she has done, if she hadn’t had a 
sort of modern Boswell to chronicle her achievements 
and to make the public see what these achievements 
mean.? How long has she been out of school.? Not 
five years I’ll wager, and see what she has accomplished. 
Do you know what the boys used to call the Polish 
district.? ‘Little Hell’; and the description was not 
far out of the way. But look at it now! It isn’t 
exactly Utopia, but it’s nearer that than the name it 
used to bear, by a great ways. And it was you who — ” 

But Bram interrupted him. 

“ You forget who this Elliot girl is. She’s the 
daughter of the late Samuel Elliot of Chicago ; she was 
born and raised in a settlement. She couldn’t help but 
take to it like a duck to water when she once got 
started.” 

“ That’s as far as her work goes. I’ll admit she’s 
clever and she knows what she’s about. Don’t mean to 
detract from her ability one iota. But when all is said 
and done, how could she have accomplished what she 
had done in so short a time if some one had not told the 
public about her.? Where would the funds have come 
from for the night classes and the nurseries and the 
dramatic entertainments and bands and — well you 
know better than I.?” 

And although Bram had made himself a promise 
that he would see as little of Cordelia Elliot as possible, 
he found that when that young lady had made up her 
mind that a settlement house was needed in the Polish 
district — “ to retain the ground we have gained,” was 


296 


Bram of the Five Corners 


the way she put it — it was impossible to avoid her. 
It was a foregone conclusion that he would be her press 
agent. The Sun reached sixty thousand families, and 
Cordelia wished to raise $20,000. 

When once launched out on it Bram threw himself 
into the work with enthusiasm. Cordelia’s success had 
become very precious to him. 

“ She’ll never know it,” he told himself. “ It is 
merely a case of my being interested in work of this 
kind; as a schoolmate of hers. I am doing what I 
can to boost her project. She need never know. Pray 
God she will never understand.” 

But even Craik declared that Bram had never handled 
anything better. 

“ There’s a ‘ kick ’ to your appeal in this settlement 
house business that you’ve never come up to before. 
If this feature today about the four wise little Polacks 
don’t make the shekels burn themselves out of the 
pockets of the rich moguls I’m mighty much mistaken. 
Anyone can see your heart is in this stuff.” 

Bram started. “ Yes, my heart is in it,” he thought, 
and curiously the thought made him uncomfortable. 

Although he tried to avoid Cordelia as much as 
possible — afraid of himself and seeking somehow to 
learn strength to fight his temptation — to avoid her 
was quite impossible, especially towards the latter part 
of the campaign. She and he were the two generals in 
the great struggle. It was frequently necessary to 
confer and to make plans and to check up one another. 

“ Oh, you’re splendid, Bram ! ” cried Cordelia enthu- 
siastically, still calling him by the name of his school 
days. “ You have a genius for making people feel.” 

Bram smilingly disclaimed credit for himself. But 


Revelation hy Telephone 297 


his heart was singing in spite of himself. The simple, 
unaffected outburst from the girl made the blood pound 
in his pulses, and a blush of timidity and pleasure come 
to his face. * 

“ You’re still the same old boy you always were,” 
she continued in the chatty vein in which they had been 
carrying on the conversation — ‘‘ you do something that 
is perfectly lovely, and then you blush as if you were 
ashamed of it.” 

Her laugh rang out with the clearness and enthusiasm 
of perfect health. She looked very lovely to Bram, in 
her simple white gown, her eyes asparkle, her red lips 
absentmindedly caressing the point of her pencil. There 
was a fragrance about her that had in it a kind of 
intoxication for him. When her hand accidentally 
touched his sleeve an electric thrill passed through him. 
So acute became his desire to touch her arm with the 
tips of his fingers that he was compelled to put his 
hands in his pockets. 

‘‘ Nevertheless I insist that you have a genius for 
making people feel,” Cordelia repeated. “ I remember 
the first time I really learned to know you well. I 
wonder if you remember? It was way back, way back, 
long, long ago when we were mere youngsters. Now 
you’re a famous journalist and I’m an — old maid ! ” 

She spoke the words laughingly; but Bram thought 
he detected in it a false note. Was it possible John 
Baxter had failed her and that this radiant creature 
beside him could not have what she desired? But 
straightway he put the thought from him. It was an 
absurd notion and his imagination was playing him 
tricks, he decided. 

“ You were taking me home from a lecture — do you 


298 


Bram of the Five Corners 


remember?” she ran on, just a little precipitantly ; 
“ and we were talking about Calvinism. That’s what 
gave me the idea you were going in for the ministry — 
the way you stood up for what the speaker had said 
about world philosophies and what not. But later you 
told me about the Ellis island minister of yours. The 
picture you drew of him that night is still with me as 
clearly as if I had known the man all my life. I find 
myself saying sometimes when in doubt, ‘ So and so, 
Bram’s minister would have handled this,’; and I feel 
just as sure he would as if he had told me so.” 

“ That’s merely to the credit of your own imagina- 
tion; you know that I’m a poor talker, whatever else 
I may be.” 

“ Not when you’re stirred. There’s something elec- 
tric in you then. It is not so much what you say as 
that somehow you make people feel. That’s what you 
have done in this campaign. It is a proof to me that 
you were stirred by the work; otherwise you couldn’t 
have stirred others as you have done. I’m very glad 
you feel that way about it. I feel like a school girl 
again today, now that the end of the campaign is in 
sight. I can relax and be a mere human being, for- 
getting for the moment all about the settlement. I 
wonder if you Can know what a luxury that is ? ” 

Bram looked at her searchingly. He did not know 
quite what answer to make. 

“You mean the work exhausts you?” he asked 
solicitously, in spite of his effort to make the tone that 
of business talk. 

“ I feel tired sometimes and I am frequently con- 
scious of strain. It isn’t the classes and the festivals 
and the theatricals. I love them, and I love the people ; 


Revelation hy Telephone 


299 


you can never know how splendid they are — the great 
burly fellows with their naive enthusiasms, the women 
and the little children. Really talented, some of them, 
and with infinite capacities ; and eager to learn. It is 
an inspiration to see how eager they are to learn, many 
of them. It is the sense of wonderful possibility that 
it seems to me can’t help but stir anyone that can feel 
it. There’s where you have helped: you have made 
others feel.” 

“ But you feel tired sometimes,” Bram prompted 
her. 

“ Yes,” she answered slowly, “ sometimes I feel — 
well, I can’t quite express my meaning. I had almost 
called it discouraged.” 

“ Discouraged ! With your record of achievement ! ” 

“ It isn’t quite the word, perhaps. But sometimes I 
feel so weak and ineffective. Especially after you or 
some one else has written me up. You’re always pic- 
turing me as possessed of wonderful strength and self- 
possession. When I read that I become afraid that 
some day I shall be found out. I am not really any- 
thing like that, Bram. I’m only a woman, and a rather 
weak woman ; and you have often made it hard for me 
to live up to what people think I am.” 

She laughed good-naturedly at her analysis of her- 
self. When Bram spoke he could not keep the enthusi- 
asm out of his voice. He made Cordelia “ feel ” what 
he said, 

“ Why, you’re the very picture of health and self- 
possession. Whenever I wish to ‘ place ’ other women 
I unconsciously compare them with you as a standard. 
Those who come anywhere near you are approaching 
hundred per cent genuine.” 


300 


Bram of the Five Corners 


Though the words were spoken half banteringly, 
Cordelia sensed the undercurrent that ran through 
them. A blush of very real and very girlish pleasure 
came into her face. Bram saw with consternation what 
he had done. In trying to modify his words he stam- 
mered and repeated and became involved; and finally 
he ended lamely, overcome by an attack of acute embar- 
rassment. 

“ I suppose it’s merely moods,” said Cordelia, revert- 
ing to the previous subject as a retreat from Bram’s 
distress, “ it’s like the proverbial school ma’am grad- 
ually growing sour after years of teaching, I suppose.” 

“ Nonsense! ” cried Bram, and he put such passion- 
ate conviction into the word that it startled the girl. 
Bram discovered that he was losing grip, and he rose 
to go. 

They shook hands on parting; Bram imagined that 
the little white hand, as it lay in his, trembled ever so 
little. As he hurried along he was impelled, almost 
against his will, to look back. Cordelia was still stand- 
ing in the doorway where she had bidden him good-by. 
When she saw him look back she quickly retreated into 
the house with what appeared to Bram a flutter of some- 
thing like embarrassment. 

“ Oh, God, give me strength I ” was the prayer in his 
heart, although his lips uttered not a sound. The 
intoxicating sweetness of her and the purity and lovable- 
ness I The thought was almost a physical pain. It 
stabbed him and tore him and made the haunting terror 
return that he had often known since he had discovered 
that he loved her. 

WTien he reached his room he found another poorly 
spelled letter from Hattie. In his answer he made the 


Revelation hy Telephone 


301 


same promise that he had often made before; but the 
words seemed dead. He wrote with a fierce determina- 
tion to convince Hattie that he meant them. But he 
knew that in reality he was struggling fiercely to con- 
vince himself. 

“ Meesterling,” said Craik a week or two later in the 
matter-of-fact tone in which he was in the habit of 
giving out assignments, “ the old man called me in for 
a little conference last night, and what do you think 
was decided on at that little meeting.? ” 

“ Probably to dispense with my services,” laughed 
Bram. But his laugh was not entirely free from a 
touch of uneasiness. 

“ In a way, yes,” the city editor replied. “ We are 
to dispense with your services as an all-around man, 
but you are to be boosted into a special line. It’s the 
way you handled this affair of the Elliot woman that 
has done the business for you. You are to be made 
editor of the social service department. Don’t know 
yet what name the new department will have, but that’s 
the meat of it. The old man thinks you have a sort 
of genius for that line of work ; and I wish to say, Mees- 
terling, that I fully agree with him.” 

Bram stammered his thanks. It was characteristic 
of him to forget to ask whether the position carried 
with it an increase in salary. But Craik supplied the 
necessary information unasked: 

“ And there will be enough in it for you to get mar- 
ried and settle down on.” 

Bram turned pale and was unable to answer. Craik 
wondered in what way he had struck the wrong note. 

“ The old man will talk it over with you in detail 
in a day or two. I was merely given the privilege of 


802 


Bram of the Five Corners 


sounding you as to your feelings in the matter. But 
of course you’ll accept. It’s something any man would 
jump at.” 

The two men talked about the details of the new 
arrangement. It was during that part of the day, after 
the paper was on the press, when the strain is lifted 
and the workers are preparing to leave for the quiet 
of their homes — not usually the corner saloon, as the 
magazine school of fiction would have one believe. Craik 
was interested in Bram. Himself passionately fond of 
his work, so much so that he could not understand how 
anyone could elect to adopt any other profession, it 
had been his privilege to “ convert ” Bram, as he 
expressed it. And he felt the interest of the missionary 
in his convert. And also Craik had a genuine knowl- 
edge of and interest in the subjects that were hence- 
forth to form Bram’s special field of work. 

You’ll have opportunities in this new line,” Craik 
was sajung ; ‘‘ not that it will be so much different — 
you have been working along that line a good deal ; but 
from now on it will be your particular field. You, can 
do constructive work, plan campaigns, begin something 
and finish it. It won’t be haphazard.” 

“ No, it won’t be haphazard,” Bram said. Then he 
surprised Craik by adding, “ Much social service work 
is work that should never have been necessary. If I 
am given a free hand I propose to make that clear, if 
I do nothing else ever.” 

Craik looked puzzled. 

“ We are caring for our insane,” Bram explained, 
“ and our epileptics and our feeble-minded. Untold 
wealth is spent on them, and armies of noble men and 
women give their lives for the care of them. But all 


Revelation hy Telephone 


303 


their service goes for very little, because the defectives 
increase much faster than the state can take care of 
them. While all the time the point is forgotten that all 
these defectives, or a great proportion of them, should 
have been prevented. And this point has a bearing on 
much else in society — much of the work that the noble 
men and women do, the people who spend their lives in 
the service of others. Oh, it’s alL right; it’s splendid 
of them. The present generation is here and it must 
be taken care of. But much more has to be done. I 
had occasion once to study this question of race better- 
ment rather — well, passionately.” 

Bram stopped on the verge of a confidence, and he 
retreated into himself. Craik was interested now and 
he attempted to keep up the conversation. 

“ But this forcing of an alliance between a man and 
a woman as a scientific measure doesn’t quite appeal to 
me,” the city editor said, more for the sake of enticing 
Bram into an argument than because he had any deep 
convictions on the subject. “ Human personality enters 
in. Men and women can never be mated as blooded 
stock is mated.” 

‘‘ I agree with you on every point,” answered Bram. 

As long as the world lasts I suppose men and women 
will marry because they love. I don’t believe any right- 
thinking man would have it otherwise. There is very 
little that can be done by legal enactment. In a com- 
paratively few cases the state can step in and prevent 
the propagation of defectives. The positively insane 
and the positively weak-minded can be segregated; and 
a few others can be controlled. But it is in the cases 
of those who are in the twilight zone between normality 
and abnormality that the danger lies. And here indi- 


304 


Bram of the Five Corners 


vidual responsibility comes in. Each man must be 
taught to look upon himself as being the guardian of 
the health and strength of the generations to come. It 
must become as unpopular to bear a defective child as 
it now is to be born poor.” 

Craik smiled. 

“ You are biting off a pretty big chunk,” he said. 
“ It’s easy to tell people to be good, but it’s a much 
different thing to get real results.” 

“ I know, I know,” Bram answered quickly, almost 
impatiently ; “ but when you first seriously interested 
me in newspaper work you cited the Christ to me. He 
embodied in himself a new ideal of life; and think 
of what a big chunk his twelve followers took upon 
themselves to bite off. Yet the philosophy of their 
leader has changed the world. Nothing is gained by 
being afraid of a task because it is big. And I look 
upon this new position as ray opportunity. I hope to 
do my share toward presenting this new social gospel 
— not preach it; it needs no preaching. All it needs 
is presentation. Dr. Victor calls it the gospel of the 
law of life. If I can help to make it clear that it is 
not accident or the dictates of an inscrutable provi- 
dence that are responsible for society’s defectives. I’ll 
do at least something.” 

“ But you’ll earn the opposition of some of the 
churches here,” suggested Craik. 

‘‘ I suppose I shall ; I was practically excommuni- 
cated once for holding the belief I hold — excommuni- 
cated when I was on the point of beginning my work 
to prepare me for the ministry. Besides I have given 
up other things.” 

Again he stopped almost in consternation. In his 


Revelation hy Telephone 


305 


excitement he was in danger of saying more than he 
intended. He added more calmly: 

‘‘ All I can do is state the faith that I have. As I 
see it, it is not at all incompatible with the Christian 
religion. Dr. Victor declares that the law of life is 
also the law of God. I know many of my own people 
will condemn me. I shouldn’t be surprised if my own 
uncle should take up the argument against me when I 
come out in print over my name. I will be called a 
dangerous humanist.” 

“ You don’t appear much concerned about how your 
people will regard you,” smiled Craik. Bram replied 
with an answering smile. He was not concerned, since 
the Five Corners was no longer his whole world as once 
it had been. If only he could have seen his mother die 
with a smile on her face! 

“ Oh, Bram, how splendid 1 ” 

It was Cordelia’s voice that came over the wire. For 
a moment Bram was so excited that he was unable to 
answer. A few minutes before, the Sun had appeared 
on the streets with the announcement in a “ box ” on 
the front page that Bram Meesterling had been secured 
by the Szm as its Social Service Editor, followed by a 
glowing account of Mr. Meesterling’s qualifications for 
the position and his achievements in this field of work. 

“ Oh, it’s just too splendid for anything! ” the voice 
over the telephone continued. “ Read it just now — a 
minute ago ; but I couldn’t wait — had to congratulate 
you right away — and tell you how glad I am.” 

Bram managed to express his thanks. 

“ Oh, I know you’ll make good, Bram,” the voice 
continued, and Bram’s heart pounded uncontrollably at 


306 


Bram of the Five Corners 


the tone in which the words were spoken. Some bar- 
rier seemed to be down between him and Cordelia, now 
that they were not face to face. Or was his imagina- 
tion playing him tricks ? “ And think of the opportu- 

nity you will have ! ” 

‘‘ It’s all your doing,” Bram managed to say ; “ the 
boss thinks that I had something to do with raising the 
funds for your settlement house, and that’s what made 
him pick me for the place.” 

The light laugh that came over the wire was the 
quintessence of joy unalloyed. Before Cordelia 
answered a word Bram knew that it was one of the 
high moments for her, one of those moments when life 
seems to distill all its richest blessings into one glorious 
draught, and holds it up to the lips for full and free 
enj oyment. 

“ Oh, Bram, I wish I could believe that. Of course, 
it wasn’t I that helped ; it was you yourself ; it couldn’t 
be anything else — your own ability. But even if it 
were only through the instrumentality of something con- 
nected with me, I should be very, very happy.” 

Bram was loud in his protestations that his original 
statement must stand. He would not consent to its 
revision even in the smallest way. And Cordelia finally, 
with another happy laugh, was compelled to assure him 
that she believed it. 

Bram was trembling when he hung up the receiver. 
He took out his handkerchief to wipe away the per- 
spiration from the palms of his hands. There was a 
dazzling brightness in his eyes, and his blood was leap- 
ing in his pulses. The conversation had been brief — 
only a few sentences and exclamations and a silvery 
laugh so big with happiness that it had revealed the 


Revelation by Telephone 307 


inmost soul of the girl — but much had been made clear 
to Bram in the short conversation. And the revelations 
came to him as an intoxication. The gates of life 
seemed suddenly to have been thrown open to him. His 
but to choose, his but to enjoy. The zest for life was 
in every fiber of his being, and his soul was reaching 
out with a passionate desire to be satisfied. And the 
body of him mingled its cry with the cry of the desire 
of his soul. His life forces were burning high, and the 
eternal call of the race — the call that brings into 
being the teeming generations — was sounding within 
him. And this call also was holy, as the desire of his 
soul was holy. Oh, to take the woman he loved in his 
arms — to look into her deep eyes and search there for 
the soul of her happiness-laden laughter! 

But suddenly darkness came over Bram, and he held 
to the back of his chair for support. His dream of 
happiness was a delusion. There were always the 
poorly spelled letters of Hattie and his own pact with 
himself. Laughter died out of his life, and the world 
was cold and gray. 

“ It’s me for the prize fight tonight,” Jackman was 
saying. 

“ Not for mine,” answered Fellows, ‘‘ I’ve got a case 
on Susie ; has lasted all of a week. Am. to take her to 
a dance tonight.” 

They passed out and Bram sat facing his future 
alone. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE TRAGEDY OF CHANCE 



IN’T you seen what Het Gereformeerde Weekblad 


had about Bram this week? ” asked Vrouw Pop- 
pema. “ You can just make up your mind right now 
that he will never show his face at the Five Comers 
again.” 

“ Jg, I seen Het Weekblad” said Roelof Hilsma. 

“Then what in the world are you waitin’ for? If 
’twas a young boy you was I’d have some patience with 
you. But here you are thirty-six and Hat is twenty- 
seven. You should have been married all of ten years 
ago and had sons now that was growin’ up into fine 
young fellows. And Hat, she’s an old maid. And that 
for a girl with her looks ! It’s schandalig ! ” 

“ It ain’t Bram,” said Roelof ; “ it never was Bram 
what I was afraid of. You know that as good as what 
I do. Don’t you remember what we done to Bram? 
I’m thinkin’ that’s got more to do with his stayin’ 
away from here than what Het Weekblad says. He ain’t 
been here only twice the past three years.” 

During the slow course of the years a fictitious 
encounter at the bridge had taken the place in Roelof’s 
imagination of the real episode. Roelof actually did 
not remember that in the encounter he had not figured 
as very much of a hero. 

“ You make me tired,” said Vrouw Poppema impa- 
tiently. “ Here’s Hat, the finest lookin’ girl in all the 
[ 308 ] 


The Tragedy of Chance 


309 


Five Corners, waitin’ for you to say the word. You 
could have married her three years ago when Bram 
threw her over. But you keep hangin’ on and hangin’ 
on, and nothin’ comes of it. If anyone had done that 
to me when I was a girl I would have told him a thing 
or two.” 

“ It ain’t Bram, you can depend on that ; it ain’t 
Bram,” Roelof repeated. 

“ Then what in the world is it.^ Answer me that.” 

“ You can’t do them things in a hurry ; it won’t do 
to do ’em in a hurry. Gettin’ married is somethin’ 
what you don’t do every day. It takes time to think 
it all out. I don’t believe in rushin’ right into it head 
first.” 

“Rushin’ in!” snorted Vrouw Poppema; “who’s 
rushin’ in? Answer me that. It took you thirty-six 
years to make up your mind, and you ain’t a bit nearer 
now than the day you was bom. If you call that 
rushin’ in what do you do when you go real slow ? ” 

Though Roelof repeated that it was not Bram who 
was holding him back from making advances, he 
betrayed the next moment that in reality the thought 
of Bram in connection with the girl was not far from 
him. 

“ Hat is still writin’ to Bram, ain’t she? ” he asked. 

“ Ja, that she is ; and if you don’t look out Bram 
will run off with her yet right under your nose. But 
what good does writin’ do? It ain’t in it with talkin’. 
And you can talk to her every day while Bram ain’t 
seen her since three years ago.” 

“ Ja, I heard she was still writin’ to him right along. 
Now don’t that look to you like there was still some- 
thin’ between them? I ain’t no young boy, Vrouw Pop- 


310 


Bram of the Five Corners 


pema. I’m an old one at the game, and I ain’t fooled 
so easy as some what I could name.” 

For three years Roelof Hilsma had hesitated because 
of a number of reasons. Chief of these was Bram Mees- 
terling. Roelof was not “ too bright,” as his two 
younger brothers frequently found occasion to say. 
He affected to despise Bram and all others “ what had 
wasted their time in college.” But in reality he was 
afraid of him. Not chiefly in a physical sense. But 
Roelof had become obsessed with the idea that Bram 
would appear at the last moment and take Hattie away 
from him. Though he told himself that he had played 
\he game of love with consummate skill, in his heart he 
knew that the girl would desert him, perhaps even at 
the altar, if Bram should reappear on the scene. That 
she kept on writing to Bram was fuel to Roelof’s fears. 

But there were other reasons why Roelof hesitated. 
It was many years since he had been looked upon at 
the Five Corners in the light of a ladies’ man — years 
and years since he had gone courting with the others 
of his age at the Five Corners. All the associates of 
his youth had been married many years. Some had 
children of twelve and thirteen. Roelof alone remained 
as a “ last leaf,” and the younger generation was laugh- 
ing at the “ old forsaken bough ” where he was cling- 
ing. 

Especially his brothers took a fiendish delight in 
making sport of Roelof’s belated love affair. He denied 
strenuously on all possible occasions that he had any 
love affair. And in his efforts to live up to those state- 
ments he kept on hesitating. 

And the years passed by. 

Periodically Vrouw Poppema took Roelof to task. 


The Tragedy of Chance 


311 


She had set her heart on making a match for her friend, 
and she could not rest until her purpose had been 
accomplished. All the arguments she could muster were 
brought into play. But their combined force had so 
far proved insufficient to overcome Roelof’s mental 
inertia. When therefore Het Weekhlad began devoting 
learned columns to attacks on Bram Meesterling she 
eagerly seized upon them as a new weapon to bring the 
recalcitrant swain to the point. 

Nor had her persistent campaign been without 
results. Goaded by the repeated taunts, Roelof was 
seriously beginning to make up his mind. Hitherto he 
had been content to visit Hattie Wanhope under cover 
of the pretext of “ seein’ how Chris was gettin’ on.” 
There had also been occasional clandestine meetings, so 
guarded from all eyes that Roelof’s younger brothers 
would never by any possible chance be able to hear of 
them. But now he was beginning to spend long evenings 
in making serious plans for bringing the relations 
between him and Hattie to a focus. He devised an 
elaborate scheme of running away with her and remain- 
ing away a long, long time — so long that before their 
return they would have fallen into the ordinary grooves 
of wedded life and would thus escape the ridicule of his 
brothers. At other times he determined recklessly to 
face all the world with his romance, and dare all men 
(in the persons chiefly of his two brothers) to laugh as 
they pleased. 

And finally he got himself so far in hand that he 
made bold to hitch up Lizzie to his father’s top-buggy 
with a view of taking Hattie for a ride. It was nearly 
eight o’clock before he stole out of the house, intent on 
carrying out his plan. It was very nearly dark. It 


312 


Bram of the Five Corners 


would be entirely dark before he could reach the Wan- 
hope farm. 

“ Hi, Roelof , what’s up ? ” came one inquisitive voice 
as he was fastening the back-stop straps. 

“ None of your business,” growled Roelof savagely. 
He had hoped to get away without being observed. 

“ Oh, say, Joe, Roelof is go in’ to take his girl out 
ridin’,” the voice continued, issuing forth from the semi- 
darkness. The voice of Joe now joined that of his 
brother in the deluge of remarks. 

“ Shut your face ! ” shouted Roelof ; “ do you want 
the whole neighborhood here askin’ what’s the matter? 
You’re plumb crazy.” 

Then suddenly inspiration came to him. 

“ What put this girl business into your head any- 
way? ” he asked. “ I never thought less of girls than 
now — with my head splittin’ with toothache. Goin’ 
to the Stad to have the doctor pull it.” 

This brazen lie served its purpose, and Roelof escaped 
without further molestation. But when later he and 
Hattie dashed past the home of Berend Poppema the 
girl came near betraying their identity. She was in 
high spirits and she giggled hilariously. And just as 
they were passing the door of the house she called out 
and laughed loud and joyously. 

“ Keep still ! ” snapped Roelof. “ What’s gettin’ into 
you? Want to wake up the dead? ” 

For answer Hattie burst out into renewed laughter. 
But Roelof applied the whip vigorously to the horse, 
and before Vrouw Poppema could lay aside the sock she 
was knitting and rush to the door the buggy was nearly 
out of sight. 

“ Heden! Heden! I believe sure that was Hat out 


The Traqedy of Chance 


313 


ridin’ with some one,” Vrouw Poppema said to Berend 
her husband. 

Berend looked up from the reading of the sermon of 
Brakel that he would have to deliver on Sunday to the 
congregation of the Five Corners. But he made no 
comment. 

“ I wonder if ’twas Roelof,” continued Vrouw Pop- 
pema. “ That means somethin’. If ’twas Roelof, that 
sure means somethin’.” And she smilingly returned to 
her knitting. 

Late that night Roelof and Hattie were sitting on 
Chris Wanhope’s porch where years ago Hattie and 
Bram Meesterling had sat, when her thin, pretty face 
and the witchery of moonlight first had cast their spell 
over him. Roelof’s horse was tied to the rural mail 
box, Chris Wanhope never having taken the trouble to 
erect a hitching post. 

Roelof had been holding aloof all evening. Hattie’s 
drawing Vrouw Poppema’s attention had unnerved him. 
Meeting Hattie in secret was one thing ; appearing with 
her before all the world was quite another. The enor- 
mousness of the venture all at once had struck terror 
into his heart. And though he had on more than one 
occasion kissed the girl in the spontaneity of chance 
meetings, the tumult in his heart had kept him sitting 
rigidly erect all evening. 

Hattie elementally felt herself despoiled of what 
legitimately belonged to her. Her body desired him 
passionately, and her child-mind could not understand 
why she should not be satisfied. She had not the power 
of inhibition of her years. She moved up close to the 
man and drew his arms about her. 

And Roelof was human. At the touch of her full. 


314 


Bram of the Five Corners 


warm lips upon his he lost all his fears. He crushed 
her in his arms and clumsily beat kisses upon the face 
looking up at him, soft and beautiful in the vague moon- 
light. Hattie giggled happily and returned his kisses 
passionately. 

As he rode home late that evening Roelof reflected 
with consternation that he would have to face the world 
with his romance some time. But there was still plenty 
of time, he reassured himself. Meanwhile he revelled in 
his triumph. 

The attacks of Het Weekblad that Vrouw Poppema 
had used as a weapon in her campaign against the 
heart of Roelof Hilsma began soon after Bram assumed 
his new position as Social Service Editor of the Sun, 
The articles he wrote were dangerously humanistic. It 
was the eternal antithesis of humanism to Calvinism 
that made Het Weekblad jump into the conflict eagerly. 
Each week a brief review was printed of what Bram 
Meesterling had said in the Swi during the preceding 
days. And this review was usually followed by three 
or four columns of closely packed logic in refutation. 
In the minds of many of the readers of Het Weekblad 
Bram Meesterling became the embodiment of the prin- 
ciple of evil in the world. 

“ Ja, ja,” lamented Harm Bazelaar, “it’s sad that 
a young life has gone to ruin like that. Think of it, 
he might have been dominie by this time ! ” 

“ What I’m thinkin’ is that we are mighty lucky,” 
answered Bastiaan Kuiken. “ If it hadn’t been for me 
and you. Harm, and for Berend and Jan Hendrik, 
Bram would have gone right on in his dwalingen and 
gone into the church with them. But we put him under 


The Tragedy of Chance 


315 


censuur where he belonged. Yes, sir, the people of the 
church can thank us for saving them from trouble, that’s 
what they can do.” 

Bastiaan was being threatened with failure of re-elec- 
tion as elder, and he was using the disciplining of Bram 
as a very convenient argument in his campaign. He 
and his associates had saved religion at the Five Cor- 
ners at a critical period in the history of the .congrega- 
tion. Hence it would be folly for the people to desert 
the leaders who had been found faithful when the need 
was great. 

Especially was Het WeeJcblad severe when Bram be- 
gan writing his famous series of articles on race better- 
ment. For material for this series he had haunted the 
divorce courts, the slums, the domestic relations courts ; 
he had visited prisons and mad-houses, homes for the 
feeble-minded and colonies for epileptics. Everywhere 
he had gathered information. The tragedies and com- 
edies of the subnormal were all grist for his mill. And 
often the tragedy and the comedy were so inextricably 
intermingled that both would have been destroyed if 
separated. 

There was no preaching; Bram had a horror of 
preaching. Merely a series of vivid pictures — little 
dramas from real life, with only the names disguised. 
Hardly w’ere even general principles stated; the stories 
were allowed to carry their own message. And grad- 
ually the public began to see the drift of the little 
dramas. And when it did, it was carried away as by 
an irresistible force. It saw that back of the stories 
was a passion that gripped the writer and drove him 
and impelled him and mastered him. He was like the 
orator who forgets the audience before him, who is irre- 


316 


Bram of the Five Corners 


sistibly swept on by his theme. Bram Meesterling made 
others feel because he himself felt. 

Though Het Weekblad confined itself in the main to 
argument, at one point, right in the thick of the one- 
sided controversy, it turned aside to make a personal 
attack upon the Social Service Editor of the Sun. This 
was when Bram had been seen entering a theater. The 
theories of any man who demeaned himself to enter a 
play-house must inevitably be wrong ; he was not worthy 
of a hearing, not worthy of being taken seriously, son 
of the church though he had been ; not worthy of an 
answer. And for one week Het WeeJchlad refrained 
from refuting the articles that appeared over Bram 
Meesterling’s name in the Sun. But then the tempta- 
tion to indulge in controversy again became too strong ; 
and the people of the Five Comers were again told each 
week, firstly, secondly, thirdly, indefinitely, in what 
respects the boy who had grown up among them had 
departed from the only true way of salvation. 

They had attended Sothern and Marlowe’s perform- 
ance of Romeo and Juliet — Bram and Cordelia Elliot. 
He hardly knew why he had invited her to go with him ; 
he had in fact definitely made up his mind not to do 
so, just because he had so passionately wanted to. But 
the coming of Sothera and Marlowe was an event in 
De Stad; and before Bram knew what he was doing 
he had yielded to the impulse of his heart and Cordelia 
was eagerly saying yes. 

They were walking homeward in the moonlight, as 
they had walked years ago after attending a lecture 
on Calvinism as applied to present-day life. But there 
was silence now between them, while on the previous 
occasion there had been argument. Both Bram and 


The Tragedy of Chance 


317 


Cordelia were under the spell of the beauty of the per- 
formance. The poetry and the purity of young love, 
the call of youth to youth, the wonderful revelation of 
the heart of mankind — had stirred Bram and had 
thrilled him, and now they held him and kept him silent ; 
a rapt silence, as though speech were a desecration of 
something holy. And in the eyes of the girl by his side 
there was the same light that some hours before had 
beamed from the eyes of Juliet, when with dawn faintly 
lighting up the French windows she had said farewell 
to her husband-lover. But Bram did not see her eyes. 
Otherwise he might not have found the strength he 
needed in his struggle. 

She was very beautiful as she walked by his side in 
the moonlight. Again the desire to touch her became 
almost uncontrollable. It seemed to him that if he 
could but feel her in his arms for a moment the ful- 
fillment of his life would have come, and he would be 
content to give it all up. Just the touch of her, to feel 
her young form pressed against his ! He, the writer of 
wise articles, the defender of the new social gospel, the 
delver into the subnormal; and she, the noted settle- 
ment worker, to whom wise men frequently came for 
instruction — yet they were not different from the 
unlearned sons and daughters of the very tenements 
they served. Elementally, in their deepest being, they 
were the same. They heard the call of soul to soul 
and they heard the call of body to body. And desire 
leaped forth with magnetic attraction. A touch, a look, 
perhaps a word, and all barriers would have been ruth- 
lessly broken down; youth would have recognized only 
the elemental duties. And the boy and the girl would 
have answered the call of each other’s being, forgetful 


318 


Bram of the Five Corners 


of all things save the inherent right of strength to love 
strength. 

But they walked on side by side in the moonlight, in 
silence. 

It was not until they were approaching her home that 
Cordelia spoke. 

“ The tragedy of mere accident — does it not seem 
harder to bear than the tragedy that is inevitable If 
Juliet’s messenger had arrived in time, if Juliet had 
returned to consciousness a few moments earlier — just 
the merest margin between lifelong happiness and trag- 
edy. The ending is never inevitable as it is in Hamlet.^* 

“ And yet one feels that it is right and true,” said 
Bram. “ Only a great poet, I suppose, recognizes the 
irony of life and has the courage to paint it.” 

Cordelia looked up in surprise; Bram had spoken 
bitterly. 

“ But, Bram, the irony of life is not the whole of it,” 
she said softly. “ You yourself are always defending 
what you call the law of life. And there is law, Bram. 
We are not the sport of forces we can never under- 
stand.” 

“ Yes, you are right,” said Bram passionately ; “ oh, 
Cordelia, if I didn’t believe that — ” 

He stopped abruptly, frightened at what he was 
about to say. 

“ But the victim of the law of life does not find his 
lot easier to bear because it does not happen to be 
imposed upon him by a cosmic caprice,” he concluded, 
still speaking bitterly. Momentarily he was in a mood 
of rebellion. 

. “ What makes you speak in bitterness, Bram — of all 
times now, after seeing this poignantly beautiful play? ” 


The Tragedy of Chance 


319 


For a moment he had a wild impulse to unbosom 
himself to the girl by his side. They had reached her 
door and were standing on the porch, looking absently 
into the shimmering moonlight that covered the lawn 
and trees with a soft glory. She would understand, she 
would see. And perhaps she would make him believe 
that his promise to Hattie Wanhope was as nothing 
compared with the love of a man for his mate. He 
wanted passionately to believe that, and sometimes he 
was nearly convinced. But his had not been merely a 
promise to an individual. One might override that and 
jump the consequences — accept cheerfully the sure 
punishment that life would exact. His promise to 
Hattie meant infinitely more : She loved him as he had 
once believed he loved her. Bearing in her body the 
seeds of countless generations of weakness — seeds that 
in themselves were the result of generations of mismat- 
ing before her — she must pay the price. And he had 
promised to help her. It seemed to Bram that if he 
failed her, not only would his own life be a lie, but her 
possible transgression of the law of life, impelled by his 
weakness, would make him responsible for a curse on 
future generations. 

Cordelia had received no answer and she turned to 
go in, feeling the shadow that had fallen between them. 
Bram, overcame at the very moment when he believed 
he had conquered, stretched out his arms to her. She 
stopped, the soft light in her eyes overshadowed with 
trouble. 

“ Cordelia ! ” he cried, and it was a cry of gladness 
mingled with pain. 

“ Bram ! ” she said softly, and stood waiting. 

With a supreme effort he restrained himself. His 


320 


Brain of the Five Corners 


arms fell limply by his side. With a precipitant “ Good 
night ” he turned and walked away into the moonlight, 
compelling himself not to look back. 

Cordelia turned to the door, her cheeks on fire with 
a shame that all in a moment seemed to make life a 
burden. 


CHAPTER XXV 


IN THE HOUSE OF DEATH 

A PIANO sounding vaguely in the distance; news- 
boys far away shouting their wares in the business 
streets ; the dull heavy sound of surface cars ; and 
nearby somewhere a woman crooning softly to her baby. 
Bram had awakened to a sense of physical wretched- 
ness. All day he had tossed on an uneasy bed, accept- 
ing the anxious ministrations of the landlady with the 
poor grace of one who is unacquainted with illness. 
With the cool of the late afternoon came peace and 
sleep which the landlady did not venture to interrupt. 
She had stolen out to do some necessary buying; and 
to Bram in the twilight slowly came the consciousness 
of where he was. The low croon of the mother to her 
baby soothed him and somehow made him feel glad. 
The vague tinkle of the piano in the distance, coming 
out of the dusk somewhere from a flat across the street, 
made him think of Cordelia playing low dream-poetry. 

“ I’m going to get right up and get out of here,” 
he said out loud, though there was no one to hear. A 
few moments later he was fully dressed. Pie drank 
two glasses of cold water and hurried down the stair- 
way, afraid he would meet the landlady who had 
appointed herself nurse and who in that capacity had 
become invested with a certain authority. 

He hurried along the avenue. But he felt dizzy, and 
he put his hand against each tree as he passed for tem- 
[ 321 ] 


822 


Bram of the Five Corners 


porary support. For two days he had refused food, 
and even a cup of coffee had nauseated him. But he 
had indignantly refused to have a doctor; merely a 
passing touch of indigestion, he had said. But now 
that he was on the street again the want of food made 
him reel. 

A small group of loafers on a street corner laughed 
hilariously. 

“ Gettin^ a jag on — in the first stages,” was their 
comment. Bram heard them, but he was not interested 
enough to feel hurt. To get to his typewriter in the 
office and start work — that was all he wanted. He 
felt that was all he cared for in life. He had spent a 
day of wretchedness in bed, and he vowed that he would 
not do so again. Henceforth he would work, whether 
well or ill. Still not weaned of the habit of dramatizing 
his own life, he saw a picture of himself, old and gray, 
bowed with age and physical weakness, bending over a 
typewriter, his hands fallen heavily on the keys — stiff 
and cold in death. And the picture pleased him. 

But no sooner had he opened the door of the office 
than he knew that it would be more impossible for him 
to sit down and strike the keys than it had been to lie 
abed at home. In a moment resolution dawned in his 
face. He took one of those sudden leaps that he had 
come to expect of himself. He had been preparing for 
this for some weeks without knowing it. Now sud- 
denly, when all avenues seemed closed to him, when he 
could not bear to remain idle and when he was nause- 
ated by the sight of his typewriter, he decided to run 
away from it all. Somewhere else he would find some- 
thing to interest him — anywhere, away, leaving behind 
everything. Like a sick man was Bram — a sick man 


In the House of Death 


323 


who thinks he can run away from his illness ; who makes 
himself believe that in some other city or state all will 
be well with him. 

Craik looked up from his desk. 

“ You ought to be in bed, Meesterling,” he said. 

“ That’s the last place where I want to be,” answered 
Bram ; and he wondered at the matter-of-factness of his 
tone, in view of what he was going to say next. 

‘‘ Craik, I’m going away,” he said after a moment’s 
hesitation. 

“ Like fun you are. What you need is a stiff dose 
of quinine or something, instead of talking of travel- 
ing.” 

“No, you misunderstand, Craik. I’m going away; 
I’m going for good. Chuck the whole business. I’m 
going to start up anew somewhere else, where no one 
knows me and where I know no one.” 

Craik came over and forced Bram into a chair. 

“ For heaven’s sake, Meesterling, what’s the matter 
with you.^ You’re light-headed. I’ll telephone for a 
doctor.” 

But Bram silenced him. He made Craik understand 
he was in earnest. 

“ And since when did you come to this damn fool 
resolve? ” 

“ Just this minute. I got sick of everything all at 
once. There was really no sense in telling you; I just 
blurted it out. But I’ve decided to quit.” 

“ Cut it out, Meesterling; you’re a sick man and you 
belong in bed. Let a doctor fix you up and in a week 
you’ll be back at your desk.” 

Bram made no answer, and before Craik looked up 
from his work again he was gone. 


324 


Bram of the Five Corners 


In the street the newsboys were still crying extras. 

“ All about the sewer smash ! All about the sewer 
smash ! Seventeen dead ! All about the sewer smash ! ” 

Bram heard the cry, but it seemed something that did 
not interest him. A few weeks ago this cry of the news- 
boys would have been big with meaning to him. A 
sewer accident! That meant immigrants most likely: 
poor dumb wives, heartbroken and bewildered, hardly 
understanding the sympathy offered them; tenement 
districts in which there was wailing and the prospect 
of distress greater than usual ; charity workers ; appeals 
for funds in his department in the Sun; meetings with 
relief committees. But now Bram shook his head when 
a youngster — desisting long enough from his raucous 
cry to attempt to make a sale — offered him a copy of 
the Sun. What was it to him ? 

A week ago Bram had seen John Baxter leaving the 
home of Cordelia Elliot at nine o’clock at night. Bram 
had been unable to stay away from the place. He had 
made a solemn vow to himself that he would not go 
near her again. And he had kept the letter of the vow. 
But it had not prevented him from walking by her 
home on the opposite side of the street under cover of 
darkness. And then he had seen the tall form of John 
Baxter coming down the steps. For a moment Cor- 
delia, white-gowned and radiating an intoxicating love- 
liness, had appeared in the doorway. Only for a 
moment, but it had been enough to convince Bram that 
he could not stay away. During the week that had 
followed he had fought this degradation. And the 
struggle had left him spent, so that he had been com- 
pelled to take to his bed. 

Cordelia loved him, or at least he could have made 


In the House of Heath 


325 


her love him. Bram felt that with every fiber of his 
being. Her voice over the telephone, rich with happi- 
ness because of his success, had told him that. It had 
been the first hint. And later a thousand other little 
signs had told him the same story. He knew, as surely 
as he could know anything, that the night he had stood 
on the porch with her after the play he could have 
taken her in his arms. She had said, “ Bram ! ” and 
all her pure soul had been in that exclamation. And 
he had turned from her without a word; he had run 
away without a look. He had not dared to look back ; 
he knew that he might as well have struck her in the 
face. And misery swept over him. He could not 
explain. He could never ask her to marry him; and 
without that all explanation would be impossible. 

And yet that meant John Baxter. It could not mean 
anything else than John Baxter. Years ago Bram had 
believed the Y. M. C. A. secretary was in love with 
Cordelia, the very first time he had met the man. Bax- 
ter and Cordelia had been childhood playmates. What 
could be more natural.'’ He, Bram Meesterling, could 
have won her, had he been free. He felt sure of that, 
and the conviction filled him with wonder at the same 
time that it made him feel the anguish that accompanies 
the tragedy of chance. Her own phrase! If only he 
had met her in time I But the days would pass, and the 
weeks and the months, and he would not see her. After 
stabbing her he would not reappear. He would avoid 
her, and her love for him would become a bitterness and 
a shame. And some day she would hate him I Bram 
turned white at the thought. And then the old play- 
mate of her childhood would come and take his place. 
For a moment he hated John Baxter. 


326 


Bram of the Five Corners 


And John Baxter coming down the steps of Cor- 
delia’s home at nine o’clock in the evening had com- 
pleted the picture of Bram’s fears. Bram had slunk to 
his room, afraid to trust himself near the girl’s home 
again. 

For the thousandth time he went over every incident. 
The newsboys were no longer shouting “ Extree ! ” The 
dull rumble of the surface cars was sometimes silenced. 

Tomorrow he would go. It was all that was left for 
him. He could not stay and endure it. His grip on 
himself was slipping. He could not bear the degrada- 
tion of breaking the promise he had made himself — 
the promise in which the memory of his mother had 
been as a sacrificial incense. It had been made not only 
to himself ; it had been a solemn promise to the minister 
back at the Five Corners who had expected him to be 
a man. And he walked on and on, and he did not know 
where he was going. 

“ Bram ! ” 

He saw her standing in the doorway of an ill-smelling 
tenement house. There were tears in her eyes, but 
through the tears shone a strange brightness that for 
a moment made Bram forget his surprise at seeing her. 
He looked about him dazed. He had wandered into the 
Polish district, and he recognized the houses. And 
straightway he connected the “ extras ” with this 
squalid place. And he knew, before Cordelia told him, 
that it was in this district that seventeen families 
mourned dead fathers and brothers. 

“ He has only a few hours to live,” she was explain- 
ing to him in the low tone of the professional nurse. 
“ I merely stepped out for a breath of air. And then 


In the House of Death 


327 


I saw you coming. Oh, Bram, it is so kind of you to 
think of these poor people at this time, and to come 
and see for yourself.” 

Bram had an impulse to stop her, to disclaim all 
credit ; but he remembered that he was going away in 
the morning. Why not indulge himself in this morsel 
of her good opinion of him.? 

“ All the others are in the hospital — except the 
dead,” she continued in the same low tone, “ but he 
begged hard to be brought here. Said he wanted to 
die here. There was no chance and they yielded. I 
have sat with him since five o’clock yesterday afternoon. 
But the end is approaching.” 

Yesterday Si{iQxnoon\ Bram looked at his watch. It 
was two o’clock in the morning! 

She was almost childishly glad to see him. She was 
afraid of death, and the long vigil with the injured 
man had unnerved her. But he had clung to her hand, 
as though there was reassurance there and comfort for 
the long journey. Now he was sinking away into uncon- 
sciousness. The doctor had left hours ago, and the 
dying man had no kin to watch with him in the closing 
hours. A bewildered, inarticulate Pole — the friends 
of his boyhood living their lives in their native village, 
to learn years afterwards, perhaps, that he had been 
killed in America. Though she had pitied him and had 
wept over his lonely passing, she had been afraid of the 
end. When finally he should slip away and she should 
be all alone with death 1 She had shuddered and had 
stepped out for a breath of air. And then Bram had 
appeared. 

She clung to him almost convulsively, despising her- 
self for her weakness and fears, yet overcome with a 


328 


Bram of the Five Corners 


fierce joy that she would not have to face the grim 
terror alone. 

They sat down- beside the bed without another word. 
The dying man opened his eyes and smiled. Cordelia 
took his rough hand in hers. The hours wore away, 
and the watchers spoke in low tones, although the suf- 
ferer had lapsed into unconsciousness. 

“ I was afraid, Bram,” she said. “ After this jmu 
can never again write me up as the resourceful, self- 
possessed woman you are always picturing. But I 
don’t care, Bram. I’m only a weak woman and I don’t 
want you to think me anything else.” 

Bram did not trust himself to answer her. How 
could he tell her that he would never write her up 
again ? 

“ Oh, it was good to see you ! At first I thought my 
imagination was playing me tricks ; that I saw you 
because I so wanted you to come.” 

A thrill passed through Bram and he clutched the 
edge of the shabby counterpane to keep himself from 
touching her hand. It was so near his own. 

He asked her about the catastrophe and she told him 
eagerly. But in the middle of her narration she 
stopped. 

“ Why, Bram, you must know all this better than I 
do. I forgot that it was all in the Sun. You probably 
wrote it up yourself.” 

He was compelled to confess that he had been in 
bed all day. Cordelia was all concern. The sewer 
tragedy was momentarily forgotten. Even the dying 
man whose hand she was holding was for the time being 
out of her mind. 

“ It was nothing,” he hastened to explain ; “ a touch 


In the House of Death 


829 


of indigestion or something. Didn’t even have a doctor. 
I felt foolish to be in bed in the day time, and about 
eight o’clock I couldn’t stand it any longer.” 

Cordelia was for making him go home and get a 
doctor. 

“And leave you here alone.? Nonsense.” 

She shuddered and looked at the figure on the bed 
whose hour was fast approaching. But she pulled her- 
self together. 

“ Yes, Bram, I can’t let you stay when you’re ill, 
just for a silly fear of mine.” 

She had risen as if expecting him to leave her. 
Gently but firmly he forced her to sit down again. A 
tumult of joy that was at the same time a pain tore 
through him. Her solicitude for him, the anxiety in 
her eyes, the sweet tenderness of her voice — he would 
at least have that to carry with him in the morning. 
He would have that to carry with him through life. He 
would remember it even in the final hour when he should 
feel the shadows approaching as the injured man on 
the bed now felt them approaching. 

She was silent for a moment. Then she got up and 
found a quilt that was not in use. 

“ I’ll let you stay if you’ll let me put this back of 
your head and if you’ll go to sleep,” she said play- 
fully. 

Bram allowed her to nurse him. It was the first time 
that he really knew the tenderness of a woman’s hnnd. 
Half playfully, half seriously she pressed his head back 
against the improvised pillow. Bram thrilled with the 
delicious wonder of her touch. It was only the touch 
of a nurse, he tried to tell himself. But he knew that 
it was much more than that. He half closed his eyes. 


330 


Bram of the Five Corners 


The position had its advantages. He could look at her 
face between the half-closed lids. After a long silence 
she believed he was asleep. She touched the sleeve of 
his coat lightly and allowed her hand to rest there ! 

At last the long vigil was at an end. The injured 
man was at peace now. Cordelia had tenderly closed 
his eyes and had wept softly because of his lonely pass- 
ing. Yet there was a strange exaltation in her heart 
because of the wonderful privilege of making the 
approach of death less hard for him to face. Almost 
at the last moment he had weakly made the sign of the 
cross and had smiled at her. 

“ Let us go now, Bram,” she said. 

Bram took his hat and turned to the door. She was 
close behind him. Suddenly a strange weakness seized 
hold upon him. He tried to catch hold on something 
to steady himself, but his hand grasped on vacancy. 
The room reeled before his eyes, and the strange dizzi- 
ness that had seized him on the street in the evening 
returned. Only a moment and he was himself again. 
But Cordelia had seen it, and she sprang forward to 
support him. 

Without volition on his part he found his arms about 
her. She was clinging to him. Her face was pressed 
against his coat and there was convulsive strength in her 
arms as she pressed him to her. He touched her hair 
with his cheek, softly, reverently. Slowly she turned 
back her head and looked into his eyes. He bent down 
and kissed her on the lips. Not a word had been 
spoken. 

They walked homeward just before the dawn came. 
“ I love you ; oh, God, how I love you ! ” he had said 
at last. It had been wrung from him. 


In the House of Heath 


331 


“ I have loved you a long, long time, Bram,” she 
was now explaining; “ I think almost since the time you 
told me of your Ellis island minister. I never knew 
the real you till you told me of him.” 

Bram could not speak. Remorse for what he had 
done already had come to him. At her mention of the 
minister a pang went through him. 

“ But I never dared to hope that you cared also. 
You were rather distant, Bram. During all these years 
you did not see more of me than you were compelled 
to. Oh, Bram, it seems wonderful that we found each 
other there, beside the bed, in the house of death! It 
was the place where I belonged; and it was the place 
for you, Bram. My father would have wanted it so, 
and your minister would have thought it appropriate 
that we should find each other there — in the path of 
our duty. To me it seems like a benediction — the 
lonely man making the sign of the cross and smiling.” 

“ Most people would call it grewsome,” said Bram. 
He could not remain silent forever, and this neutral 
sentiment seemed all he could say. 

“ But it wasn’t,” she cried ; “ oh, Bram, you don’t 
think it was grewsome.? ” 

“ No, Cordelia, no. Even if it had been, you glori- 
fied it.” 

She smiled happily and shyly touched his hand. 

He spoke of John Baxter. He did not know why, 
but he heard himself pronouncing the other man’s name. 

“ Yes, I want to tell you about that too, Bram. 
We were children together and we went to school 
together. He did a great deal for me. He helped me 
to get my chance here. He is strong and noble and 
good. And, Bram, he loved me — loves me still. He 


332 


Bram of the Five Corners 


came over to see me last Thursday night. He has 
more than once asked me to marry him. But I loved 
you, Bram. Oh, it seems so wonderful no longer to be 
compelled to hide it ! ” 

Bram choked down the anguish that was gripping 
him, and forced himself to speak. 

“When I left you so abruptly on the porch, Cor- 
delia — ” 

“ Don’t let’s speak of those unpleasant little inci- 
dents,” she said ; “ that is all past now.” 

Bram was silent. He knew he must speak but he 
could not. 

“ See, Bram, it is dawn,” she cried delightedly. 
“Almost like the dawn in Romeo and Juliet^ do you 
remember? I don’t want to go home now. I know a 
spot in the park where we can sit and watch the river.” 

Bram allowed himself to be led by her. There was 
misery in his heart. But preoccupied as she was with 
her own newfound happiness, Cordelia did not notice 
how quiet he was. How to tell her? How to make her 
see it? He must begin at the beginning and not spare 
himself. It was the only way. For a moment he was 
tempted to accept the happiness that was almost thrust 
upon him, and the wild joy of the thought made him 
dizzy. But he knew that would be impossible. Years 
ago Dominie Wijnberg had expected him to be a man. 
If he failed now, all his life that had gone before would 
be a mockery and a delusion. To what purpose had he 
broken his mother’s heart, if he should be found want- 
ing now? What was all his prating about the law of 
life and the law of God if it could not stand up against 
the loss of his personal happiness? Again dramatizing, 
he saw Hattie Wanhope hearing others teU her of his 


In the House of Heath 


333 


marriage, losing belief in the inexorableness of the law 
of life. In a measure he had idealized Hattie during 
the years that he had not seen her. In his mental pic- 
ture of her she understood why he had broken the 
engagement. And his promise to her was helping her 
to believe in the law of life; all the more so because in 
his picture of her the example of her father meant as 
much to her as it did to him. It was Bram’s oft- 
repeated promise to Hattie that was giving her strength 
to deny herself. It was that, Bram told himself, that 
was helping her not to pass her weakness and her 
father’s weakness on. 

He had not seen her for four years and time had 
brought forgetfulness of her child-mind. 

They sat down on a rustic bench, Cordelia still 
lightly skimming over the past — what she had thought 
then and then ; how such and such an article of his had 
thrilled her; how she had gradually learned to under- 
stand how wonderful he was. The sun was climbing 
higher, making the dew on the grass to sparkle. They 
faced the east on their rustic seat, the river lazily drift- 
ing past them. She touched him still half shyly, and 
his hand closed over hers with a fierceness that made 
her wince. She looked into his eyes and read trouble. 

“ Bram ! ” she cried, and the happiness died out of 
her face. 

‘‘ I must tell you all from the beginning,” he said. 
“ I had planned to take the morning train to Chicago, 
never to return. It is too late for that now ; but I can 
take the train at noon. And you will help me, Cordelia 
— after — after I have told you my story — told you 
all from the beginning.” 

The misery in his voice kept her silent. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE SUPREME RENUNCIATION 

‘ ‘ T MET her for the first time in the woods on a berry 

1 picking expedition,” Bram was saying falter- 
ingly. The words sounded like words of doom to him ; 
but they must be spoken. Cordelia sat at one end of the 
rustic seat, her cheeks pale and a great fear in her 
heart. 

“ The other — woman.? ” she faltered. 

“ Yes, Cordelia, the other woman.” 

His voice now was firmer. He had steeled himself 
against the ordeal. But seeing the sudden movement 
she made as if to ward off a blow, he hastened to add : 

“ I don’t love her ; it isn’t that. Oh, Cordelia ! ” 

He restrained himself with a violent effort. Every 
cell in his body was yearning to touch her. But he 
grasped the seat and forced himself to continue to 
speak. He had a feeling that the girl at the other end 
of the seat was sitting in judgment upon him. 

It was in the woods a few miles north of here. I 
was lost and so was she. I was a mere boy, very shy 
and very ignorant. I am not offering excuses, Cordelia ; 
I am telling you all the facts as dispassionately as I 
can.” 

To himself he said, “ It will kill her love, but I have 
no choice.” 

And then he saw that that was what he must aim for 
— to kill her love. He could at least save one out of 
[334 ] 


The Supreme Renunciation 


335 


the wreck. And he made a compact with himself not to 
spare any of the details. He must kill her love; he 
must make her loathe him. And he bent himself to his 
task with the sensation of being driven by a relentless 
outside will. 

“ She had moved to the Five Corners a short time 
before, and she was three years older than I. I had 
been at school most of the time and had not seen her 
before. She was not shy, and after a time she put 
her arm across my shoulder. The touch of her thrilled 
me, Cordelia. And then she pressed a berry between 
my lips. Every incident of that day stands out in my 
mind. Shall I tell you all.^ ” 

“ Yes,” she faltered, and again her hands were thrown 
into an instinctive attitude of defense. 

“We were late in arriving at the wagons and they 
had been waiting for us. We climbed into the same 
wagon, though she belonged in another. She was older 
than I and taller and more bold. And they sang the 
old love songs, and the moon was very bright. Boy 
tliough I was and shy though I was, I had had my 
romantic dreams, and this seemed like a fulfillment of 
them. To me the whole scene was very beautiful. I 
can still see the long streak of fog hanging low over 
the meadows.” 

He stopped short, as a horse does whose rider tries 
to force him over a dangerous chasm. But only for a 
moment. And when he spoke again his voice had 
acquired an artificial calm. 

“ When darkness fell she drew my head down upon 
her lap.” 

And then, against his will, a cry in mitigation of 
what he had said broke from him: 


336 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ She was almost a woman grown, Cordelia, and I 
was a shy child.” 

Cordelia sat rigid and still at the end of the seat. 

“ That was the beginning. She was unlike the other 
girls at the Five Corners — prettier, not so heavy- 
faced — a slight touch of frailty that appealed to my 
boy imagination — ” 

Try as he might Bram could not remain true to his 
compact with himself to kill her love deliberately. At 
moments he forgot the role he had assigned himself. 

“ Then I remember there was a sleighride party, and 
again she sat very close to me. It was bitterly cold. 
She drew her shawl about me and laid her cheek against 
mine. But I was still shy and awkward. But in my 
boy fashion I worshipped her. 

“ And so the years passed, and I built my dreams 
about her and I idealized her. And then one Sunday 
night she visited my mother and I saw her home.” 

Bram took a new grip on himself. Cordelia sat rigid, 
staring at the river. 

“ I was older now, and she was to me still the woman 
— - the woman showing preference for a boy and turning 
his foolish young head. And that night she kissed me, 
and I — I — kissed her. I must tell you all, Cordelia. 
This noon I shall go away; but it is best that you 
hear all.” 

“ Yes,” she faltered again, and the hardness of her 
tone was agony to him. 

“ And we became engaged. It came to be tacitly 
understood. I had not dared to hope for that until 
years afterward; but she did not wait. I am not 
criticising her, Cordelia. I know now that hers was a 
child’s mind, incapable of inhibitions, and growing more 


The Supreme Renunciation 


337 


incapable the older she became. But I was ignorant, 
my head in the clouds. I could not know that her 
mind had not kept pace with her body. To me there 
was only insanity and normality — nothing between ; 
no twilight zones. She was older than I, and I felt very 
humble and very ignorant in her presence. I idealized 
her and dreamed about some day doing great deeds 
to please her. I could not be expected to understand 
then that the mental weakness of her father had 
descended upon her and that the years would bring 
deeper shadows. Her father now is mildly insane, and 
some day — ” 

“ Oh, Bram ! ” the girl exclaimed, horror in her eyes. 

“ I was annoyed sometimes by her idle chatter and 
her want of restraint,” Bram continued after a moment. 
His voice had become colorless and hopeless. “ But I 
reasoned it all away. Some day that would all change 
in the twinkling of an eye. She would be transformed 
as soon as she should be free from her sordid home 
surroundings. I would teach her, and she would he the 
woman I dreamed of. I foolishly imagined that a quart 
measure can be educated to hold a bushel. Since then 
I have learned that thousands of others have f6olishly 
imagined that. I did not know what weak-mindedness 
meant; and I foolishly imagined that God could make 
an idiot normal. I did not know that she was doomed 
to remain a child.” 

The girl at the end of the seat made a movement as 
if to speak, but she continued to stare at the river in 
silence. 

“ And I was destined for the ministry. My mother 
wished that and my uncle wished that. And I had made 
myself believe that Dominie Wijnberg had wished that. 


338 


Bram of the Five Corners 


I imagined I was standing on firm ground. I had my 
life partitioned off into little pigeon-holes. As the 
years came all I would have to do was to take out each 
year’s consignment. The night I first really learned 
to know you — do you remember, when we walked home 
from the lecture? You attacked the speaker and you 
ridiculed what you called ‘ moral mathematics.’ But 
I was sure of everything, and there could be no room 
for doubt.” 

Suddenly he turned upon her with a flash of re- 
membrance. 

“ Cordelia, if it hadn’t been for you I would perhaps 
never have understood. It was because of something 
you said that I was impelled to give the other side 
a hearing. And that led to Dr. Victor.” 

He paused for a moment, wondering if he could make 
her understand what Dr. Victor had meant to him. 

“ Does it seem reasonable that a single lecture could 
have such cataclysmic results in a man’s life? You 
cannot understand, perhaps, and yet I think you do. I 
remember you said he reminded you of your mental 
image of the Apostle Paul. He was a resistless force. 
I understood only vaguely then. He drove home to 
me the terrible truths that I had not understood, and 
he drove me to the literature on the subject. Nothing 
escaped me. I still remember how my uncle rebuked 
me for reading Ibsen’s ‘ Ghosts.’ The play filled me 
with terror — not artistic terror, the manufactured 
kind. I had begun to see my own situation, and finally 
I was literally drawn to Dr. Victor at the university.” 

The scene in the professor’s office came back to Bram. 

“ And he told me of the law of life, Cordelia. You 
understand the phrase ; but I had never heard of it till 


The Supreme Renunciation 


339 


then. The inexorability of it — I had never understood 
that. And he called it the law of God as well. I could 
not understand that till long afterwards. And he told 
me to be a man when I told him I loved her. I thought 
then I loved her.” 

He paused again. Bram had never known how ter- 
rible her silence could be. 

“ It was only a question of time after that to come 
to my decision. Her weakness and her father’s weak- 
ness and her father’s father’s weakness must not be 
passed on. The law of life was there and I must obey 
it; and I must help her obey it. We must not pass on 
a curse to innocent children. I promised her then that 
I would never marry. For a long time she did not 
understand, but now — ” 

“ And does she understand now ? ” interrupted the 
girl. 

“ Now.? Does she understand now? ” 

In his joy at hearing her speak at all he did not catch 
her meaning at first. 

“ They told her later,” he said. “ I foolishly wished 
to spare her at first; but they told her later. And she 
understands. That is why she has never married, though 
it is four years ago. She writes to me; still asks me 
to come back. But that is merely her weakness. I 
repeat my promise each time. It is all I can do. I 
must help her, and I must stand by her.’! 

“ But, Bram, she does not understand. She cannot 
understand. Can’t you see that? A child-mind, as 
you say — heredity — feeble-mindedness — the shadows 
gradually growing darker. It is not reasonable to 
expect that she can understand.” 

Bram looked troubled. Cordelia with her clear insight 


340 


Bram of the Five Corners 


had understood Hattie better than he had ever done. 

“ Then it must be that she still loves me,” he answered 
slowly. “ In any case I must help her and stand by 
her. If she will remain unmarried because she loves me, 
I can help her. I can renew my promise to her each 
week of my life.” 

Cordelia relaxed from her rigidity. She touched his 
sleeve tenderly. There was infinite pity in her eyes 
now. 

“ Yes, Bram, you can do that,” she managed to say. 
And then the tears came, and she sobbed convulsively. 

“ Cordelia,” he said, not daring to look at her lest 
her tears should break down his resolution, “ you your- 
self would despise me if I should go back on Hattie. 
Maybe you don’t think so now, but I know. And I 
couldn’t bear that. And there is my mother, Cordelia. 
I did not tell you about her. She could not reconcile 
herself to accepting the law of life ; it was only because 
she could not understand. And I broke her heart. I 
thought then there could never be anything harder to 
face then the pain in her eyes when she died. But this, 
Cordelia — ” 

He checked himself abruptly. 

“ And at one time I would have said that I had given 
up my career for what I had decided on. But that was 
only an exchange. Others can find their real work in 
the ministry ; many in fact serve society that way. But 
I fit in better where I am.” 

Both were silent for some moments, looking at the 
water drifting lazily past them. The heat of the sun 
had dried the dew on the grass. In the distance tennis 
players were shouting scores. The rumble of the street 
cars could be heard far away. The work of the day 


The Supreme Renunciation 


841 


was beginning in the city, but for Bram and Cordelia 
all time had ceased. 

“ And there is Dominie Wijnberg,” he said at last. 
“ I know what he would have me do. And he means 
everything to me. He has been dead these many years, 
but he is like a living presence to me. In all the crises 
of my life so far he has stood by me. He willed that 
I should be decent and strong. He willed it passionately. 
I felt it then and I feel it now. And always it has seemed 
that I could not do otherwise than at least try to 
approximate to what he would have me do.” 

Bram had tasted no food for forty-eight hours ; 
Cordelia had passed the night without sleep. But what 
were food and sleep when their lives were lying in 
broken ruins before them.'^ 

“ And now,- Cordelia, I must go,” he said. 

She caught his arm. 

‘‘ Bram ! Not yet. It means — forever ! ” 

Her voice caught on the word. Bram had a momen- 
tary temptation to take her in his arms. But he was 
afraid of his own weakness. The thrill of the mere 
touch of her warned him. 

But when the danger of his immediately leaving her 
had passed some of her rigidity returned. 

“ And she knew you when a boy, Bram,” she said 
slowly, “ and she touched you, and — and — kissed 
you.” 

She shuddered and spots of red appeared in her 
cheeks. Suddenly a wave of unreasoning resentment 
swept over her. Another woman had held her lover in 
her arms. It seemed like a defilement of something holy 
and pure and beautiful. Eternities ago he had already 
belonged to her. Through all the ages, during eons 


842 


Bram of the Five Corners 


and eons of time, she had waited for the coming of her 
lover. She had not sought him; womanlike she had 
waited. Through the ages she had waited. When this 
earth had still been “ without form and void ” she had 
waited. And he had not known his own. That for the 
moment seemed the unpardonable crime. There was also 
physical repulsion in the thought of another woman 
holding her lover in her arms. 

She took her hand away that had lingered on his 
sleeve. Bram’s heart sank. He did not have to be 
told that for the moment there was loathing in her heart 
for him. And he could understand her loathing, be- 
cause he loathed himself. This was what he had aimed 
at, to kill her love. But now that it had been accom- 
plished misery overwhelmed him. 

And he also felt what he had missed. Through all 
the ages he had been the seeker. After the allotted 
centuries had run their course he had assumed the 
flesh, and the flesh had betrayed him. He had followed 
a false light, while all the time she had been waiting for 
him — waiting for him womanlike. And the false light 
had led him into the wilderness, from which there was 
no escape. And now he saw the soul of his mate 
beckoning to his soul; but he could not come to her, 
for an impassable gulf was fixed between them. 

At last he had found her, said the girl’s heart bitterly 
— at last after all the centuries of waiting. He had 
found her, and the finding had seemed the fulfillment 
and the completion of the eternities. And just at the 
moment when she had been joyously hailing him the 
ghost of another had risen to claim him. Oh, she hated 
Hattie Wanhope. She was a woman with a woman’s 
passion for monopoly. 


The Supreme Renunciatiou 


843 


She shuddered. And then she came out of her dream. 

“ Forgive me, Bram,” she said; “ I have been unjust 
to you. I have been dreaming and have been measuring 
you by the foolish standards of a girl. I was jealous. 
I couldn’t bear the thought of another so much as 
touching you. But you have been fighting real battles 
— I’m very weak, Bram.” 

The terrible temptation to touch her and hold her 
in his arms returned to Bram. Her repentant mood 
filled him with an agony of desire to break through 
all barriers, crush her to him and claim her. Let life 
take its sure revenge later. And again seeing his danger 
he sought to cause the return of her loathing. 

‘‘ I thought I loved her, Cordelia. The boy that 
was I did love her. The boy idealized her and he — 
kissed her.” 

Once more she shuddered involuntarily. She looked 
into his eyes and the pain she saw there caused a wave 
of tenderness to sweep over her. Resolution dawned 
in her face. Her lover had not found her, said the 
voice in her heart again. In the wide spaces of the 
eternities he had missed her. That was the tragedy 
of chance! But her work was all before her, and his 
work was all before him. They must tread their paths 
alone. No gain in vain regrets. They must conquer 
their pain somehow and live their lives. It would be 
hard to pick up the broken threads of life, but it must 
be done. And she would not make it harder for him. 
He had fought his fight; and fighting he had grown 
to the stature of a man. Now she would not drag him 
down. 

“ Yes, Bram, it is the only way,” she said, and her 
voice was again even and calm. 


344 


Bram of the Five Corners 


But Bram misinterpreted its strength. He associated 
it with her shuddering. 

“ I was only a boy, Cordelia,” he pleaded, again 
forgetting his purpose to repell her. ‘‘ I can’t hope that 
you will understand, yet I can’t bear to have you feel 
that way.” 

“ But I do understand, Bram. I misunderstood for 
only a moment. It is hard to accept it. I have loved 
you so long that when you kissed me it seemed as 
though the purposes of all the ages had come to fulfill- 
ment. I feel as though I have loved you from the 
beginning of time.” 

She laid her hand on his sleeve again. 

“ And I shall love you through all eternity, Bram,” 
she said softly, her eyes filling with tears. 

“ No, no, Cordelia,” he cried. Her words thrilled him 
yet filled him with anguish. “ Cordelia — ” 

He stopped, unable to say what he knew he must 
say. He gripped the edge of the seat and forced him- 
self to speak calmly: 

“ He has loved you a long time — John Baxter.” 

But she was full of scorn for the suggestion; she 
forbade him to speak of it again. 

“ You have been giving up things all these years, 
Bram,” she said, and he marveled at the firmness of 
her voice. “ You have sacrificed all to maintain your 
ideals — your mother’s hopes, the respect of your 
neighbors, your profession. And I foolishly forgot all 
this, and it did not weigh up against the thoughtless 
kiss of a boy and a girl. I am a weakling and torn 
with little jealousies. But you will help me to be 
strong. You were right from the first. We must walk 
our paths alone. It is the only way.” 


The Supreme Renunciation 


845 


She arose, a new radiance in her face. It was she 
now for whom the far vision shown, and he was clay 
in her hands. 

He must not run away from his trouble. He must 
give up his plan of going to Chicago. His work was 
here, and it was too important to be left undone. His 
opportunity lay here. The weapon for making his life 
count was in his hand, and he must use it. Her voice 
was firm and strong now, but Bram shook his head. 

“ I know how you feel. You are afraid of your 
\veakness; but new strength will come, Bram. Your 
moral sinews have become finii and strong; they cannot 
fail you now. I am almost glad that you feel now 
that you cannot bear it; and in the long weary years 
that are to come it will be one of the memories that will 
make my life sweet and beautiful — that you loved me 
so much you were afraid of yourself. You must stay 
and do a man’s work. Don’t make it harder for me, 
Bram. It would be more than I could bear to think 
that I had dragged you down. Instead of that I am 
yearning to help you.” 

They stood facing each other a moment and then 
they turned away. Bram knew that he would not 
leave on the noon train. The river flowed lazily past 
the vacant seat. In the distance the tennis players 
were calling the scores. 

At her own door Cordelia held out her hand in fare- 
well. She kept all trembling out of her voice, and only 
her eyes betrayed the unutterable pain in her heart. 
She was very brave, and the man wondered. But when 
he walked away she stretched out her arms to him in 
impotent longing. Then she sank down upon the hall 
seat and wept softly. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


NO FIGHTING CHANCE 


ROUW POPPEMA was spending the afternoon 



V at the home of Hattie Wanhope, as was fre- 
quently her custom. Hattie’s mother was in the 
kitchen vaguely busying herself with work that was 
always in a state of incompletion. Chris Wanhope 
sat surrounded by his usual litter, vigorously chewing 
cut plug tobacco. Now and again he would arise, lift 
a lid from the kitchen stove, and shoot a stream of 
tobacco juice into the fire. He was harmless, even 
gentle. He spent most of his time smiling to himself. 

“ Hat, when in the world are you goin’ to get mar- 
ried.^ ” Vrouw Poppema was saying; “seems to me 
I’ll have to get after Roelof again.” 

Hattie giggled boisterously. 

“ Pretty soon now,” she laughed, and there was 
something in her face that arrested Vrouw Poppema’s 
attention. 

“How do you mean that, pretty soon now.? Did 
Roelof at last make up his mind and ask you, like he 
should have done years ago.? ” 

“ No, he ain’t asked me, but he will soon.” And 
the girl giggled; she enjoyed the look of mystification 
on Vrouw Poppema’s face. 

“ Ain’t asked you yet, but will soon ? Why, Hat ! ” 

Vrouw Poppema looked at the girl keenly. She sud- 
denly remembered that Bram Meesterling had broken 


[846 ] 


No Fighting Chance 


847 


his engagement because he had considered the girl 
“ wrong in the head,” as Berend Poppema had ex- 
pressed it. 

Hattie laughed, but she was unable to make her 
meaning clear immediately. It was not often that 
she was embarrassed ; but now her womanliness asserted 
itself, and she blushed a deep red. Vrouw Poppema 
looked deep into the usually rather expressionless eyes, 
and then suddenly she understood. 

Her well-developed sense of the demands of Five 
Corners .respectability kept her silent for a moment. 
This was not the way she had planned the match. 
When the final scene should come in the little love 
drama that she had carefully engineered, she had seen 
herself in the role of the goddess who has pulled the 
strings of human destiny. She had seen herself in the 
years to come telling the story of how it was she, Vrouw 
Poppema, who had brought Hattie and Roelof together. 
But this triumph was now suddenly snatched away 
from her. Nature had taken a hand in the little game. 
And in the years to come Vrouw Poppema would have 
to direct her efforts toward making people forget that 
she had had any part in the making of the match. 

But after the first blushing confession embarrassment 
left Hattie and she talked freely. For the first time 
she felt sure of Roelof Hilsma, and she was very happy. 
He could not escape her now. She giggled as she 
thought of her woman’s power. 

“ But what will people say. Hat.? ” 

Hattie had no answer for this. 

“ And you’ll have to come up before the consistory,” 
continued her friend. 

“ Before the consistory ? How’s that, why ? ” 


848 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“Don’t you know that, Hat? Before you can get 
your child baptized you’ll have to stand up and con- 
fess that you transgi’essed the Seventh Commandment 
— you and Roelof both. And then before the minister 
baptizes the child he announces to the congregation 
that you and Roelof have made confession for this.” 

The old woman shuddered. That this supreme 
humiliation would have to come to her special friend 
seemed too cruel to bear. The blood had also left 
Hattie’s face. Her sense of triumph and power over 
Roelof was not diminished; but the ordeal of facing 
first the elders and deacons and then the congregation 
of the people with her disgrace appalled her. But 
had she been given the choice between losing the power 
that would compell Roelof to marry her and facing 
the disgrace, she would have accepted the latter alter- 
native without hesitation. The consistory must be 
faced; she was ready to say whatever they might deem 
necessary. She couldn’t see any reason for it, but it 
must be right and necessary. Hattie had the child’s 
belief in the infallibility of her elders. And in her heart 
she was glad. The prospective confession was in no 
way associated in her mind with repentance. 

Vi*ouw Poppema shook her head. 

“ It’s schandalig,^" she exclaimed, “ schandalig! I 
would never have thought that of you. Hat. Before 
the consistory ! And announced right out in church ! ” 

Vrouw Poppema had forgotten the fact itself that 
made necessary the exercise of church discipline, and 
she thought only of the disgrace. She soon departed 
for home to break the news to her husband of this unex- 
pected denouement. 

“ This is the last time I’ll rite you, Bram.” It was 


No Fighting Chance 


349 


with these words that Hattie’s farewell letter began. 
“ Me and Roelof Hilsma is going to get married.” 

The brief letter had been written in triumph ; but 
Bram read something like despair into it. His concep- 
tion of an idealized Hattie, such as he had gradually 
built up during the past four years, made him an 
easy prey to this error. Hers was a child-mind in- 
capable of development, and she bore in her body the 
seeds of mental weakness that would be a lasting curse 
to the generations that might spring from her. This 
Bram knew with terrible certainty; because of this he 
had given up all that seemed worth while in life ; be- 
cause of this also he pitied her and felt for her a 
compassion that had saved him from bitterness, even 
when he had had to lose on account of it the woman 
he loved. 

But he did not know that Hattie was incapable of 
long continued suffering, any more than a child is. In 
his picture of her, constantly made more vivid by her 
letters professing love for him, she was bearing a 
burden of suffering. And now she had given way 
under the load and had consented to marry. Of her 
love story, that had begun even before the breaking 
of the engagement, he knew nothing. And, of course, 
Hattie did not tell him of her “ trouble.” 

Her letter closed with the usual term of endearment, 
and to Bram the word was like a stab. 

He sat for a long time thinking, the letter trailing 
from his hand as it hung limp beside his chair. An 
idea obtruded itself but he rejected it as preposterous. 
It came back and was again rejected. Again and again 
it presented itself, and the advance and repulse de- 
veloped into a battle. And gradually, as the idea gained 


350 


Bram of the Five Corners 


ground and Bram’s defenses against it became weaker 
and weaker, horror dawned in his eyes. And the horror 
grew and grew during the days that followed while 
the battle continued. 

Crestfallen and more like a criminal than like a 
man who had dared to the uttermost, Bram Meesterling 
walked slowly along the country road that stretched 
between De Stad and the Five Corners. It was many 
months since he had come along this particular bit of 
highway that he had traveled over innumerable times 
while a student at Christian College. Every step of the 
way was familiar, and the past came crowding back 
as he approached each familiar object — the big elm 
tree, the stone-pile near the corner, the little brick 
school-house, the bridge near which Roelof’s desperate 
gang had held him up. Even at this moment, when he 
was about to take a step the cost of which he appreciated 
to the full, Bram could smile at the episode. 

Crestfallen and with the unconscious bearing of a 
criminal — that is how Bram Meesterling returned to 
the place of his birth. No feeling of exaltation at what 
he was about to do sustained him. He had made a mess 
of life. He could not hold his head high and look all 
the world in the face. There is more than one variety 
of courage, and Bram’s had never been of the bluster- 
ing kind, propped up with heroics. Always his courage 
had been accompanied with a look of timidity. It was 
characteristic of him that in this instance he had con- 
fided in no one. He had fought his battle alone, and 
he had conquered. Now he was on his way to the Five 
Comers to carry out his resolve. But he did not have 
the appearance of a conqueror. 


No Fighting Chance 


851 


The little cemetery drew his attention. He climbed 
over the straggling rail fence and picked out his way 
among the ill-kept graves. Stopping at the spot where 
his mother and father had been laid, he mechanically 
read the headstones’ inscriptions. 

“ I wonder if she knows,” he thought ; “ and I wonder 
if she is glad.? ” 

Some time later he was at the grave of the minister, 
would have understood, thought Bram, even if he 
had not been glad. And there was consolation in the 
thought. He received new strength as he stood there 
looking at the barren spot where the body of his friend 
had been lowered. It was like a sacrament, big with 
spiritual meaning and with the promise of untouchable 
power. 

When he had regained the highway there seemed 
again to be a voice in him that said “ Amen.” And 
though he could not hold high his head there was in 
him once more a consciousness of quiet strength. 

As he approached the Five Corners Dr. Straatman 
overtook him, and Bram accepted a lift. 

Dr. Straatman and Bram had seen much of each 
other during the years that had elapsed since the day 
when the physician had told the student about the 
antecedents of his feeble-minded cousin. Straatman 
and Bram had a great deal in common in their ideas 
on social questions. Bram had more than once reflected 
Straatman’s opinions in the Sun, and Straatman was 
a warm admirer of the work Bram was doing. 

Old Dr. Baas of the Five Corners had died two years 
before, and since then the people had been compelled 
to resort a city physician. They would have nothing 
of “ such English doctors ” however ; and in spite of 


352 


Bram of the Five Corners 


the fact that his ideas were in sharp antithesis to theirs, 
Dr. Straatman was now considered the community’s 
physician. That he spoke Dutch had been the open 
sesame for him. He could say, “ Hoe is het er medef ” 
and that somewhat inspired confidence, such as no 
degree from Europe’s most famous medical school 
could have given. 

Vrouw Wanhope was ailing, the physician informed 
Bram, and he was on his way to pay her his weekly 
call. Bram informed him he was bound for the same 
place, and Dr. Straatman expressed his surprise. 

“ And still I might have known,” he continued. “ I 
had forgotten for the moment that you were bom and 
raised at the Five Corners. And by the way, Meester- 
ling, if you’ll pardon my saying so, you are not very 
popular among your former neighbors. Not that I 
count that against you,” he laughed ; “ a prophet is not 
without honor, and so forth, you know.” 

“ From their point of view,” answered Bram, “ I 
suppose they have reasons. My mother felt the same 
way, and I certainly don’t want to accuse her of having 
been prejudiced against me. It is a difference in ideals 
in regard to the facts of life.” 

“ But difference in ideals can be fraught with 
tragedy,” said Straatman, softly now and full of sym- 
pathy. “ I have been told the story of Hattie Wanhope 
many times. And I luiow why you acted as you did. 
She is not fit to bring a child into the world. She comes 
from decidedly feeble-minded stock. Old Chris’s mild 
insanity is not an accident. She herself is feeble- 
minded, though the people here don’t realize it. Oh, 
I know, when you were a youngster and she a pretty 
girl, I can understand how she attracted you. The 


No Fighting Chance 


858 


attractive female moron often does that, and Hattie was 
much nearer the normal then than now. Her mental 
growth has been arrested.” 

“ Yes, I realized that at last,” said Bram, not raising 
his eyes, his head sunk on his breast. 

“ And if you had married her and raised a family 
there would have been a hell on earth for you — idiocy 
and feeble-mindedness perhaps in your children. And 
I don’t know but that you would have deserved it, know- 
ing what you know.” 

“ Yes, I would have deserved it,” answered Bram, 
not yet looking up. 

“ I have watched her the past year or more. No 
child of hers would be likely to have even a fighting 
chance for normality. It’s a pity, but it’s the truth 
that has to be faced. She herself is incapable of under- 
standing it ; and I am glad you were man enough to 
face it. Ever since I heard your story, Meesterling, I 
have thought of you with respect. You have practiced 
a new social gospel that the world must come to if the 
race is not to be overwhelmed by the encroaching 
weakmindedness.” 

‘‘ That’s the way I felt when I gave her up,” said 
Bram, his eyes still downcast. ‘‘ But then I did not 
look very far ahead. I was thinking only of myself. 

I was merely thinking of saving my own skin. And now 
circumstances have forced me to think of Hattie as well. 
She wrote me that she was to marry Roelof Hilsma — 
you know him doubtless ; also below par mentally. My 
giving her up has availed nothing. She still has her old 
feeling for me, it seems. At least so I gather from her 
letter. But you know at the Five Comers it is hardly 
respectable for a girl to stay single.” 


354 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ But your giving her up has availed a great deal,” 
declared Straatman almost vehemently. “ You have 
given notice to the world that the old haphazard mating 
of men and women is dangerous. I don’t mean that 
people shall cease marrying for love. Under normal 
conditions that is the surest and safest test of fitness 
for marriage that has yet been discovered. But I do 
say, and you say the same thing by your act, that 
the normal men and women have a duty toward those 
who are below par and whose offspring is sure to be 
below par. Around here it is considered a sin to 
prevent a man or a woman from reproducing his or her 
kind. You have put into practice the new social gospel ; 
and don’t you believe for one moment that the lesson 
is going to be lost. It is going to make itself felt 
even after we are dead and gone. Men and women no 
longer mate themselves with persons incurably suffering 
from congenital disease. And it is men like you who will 
lead society to the higher level, to the time when the 
normal will no longer mate with the mentally feeble, no 
matter how attractive the feeble may be in face and 
figure. Then by making it unpopular for weakness to 
mate with weakness the race will at last get some kind of 
a chance. And let me tell you, Meesterling, that the 
putting into practice of this new social gospel is funda- 
mental. On it hang the law and the prophets of 
society’s advance.” 

“ I believe you are right,” was Bram’s answer, and 
Dr. Straatman was surprised at the lowness of the 
tone. It was spoken timidly, almost inaudibly. 

“ But I was thinking of myself alone,” Bram con- 
tinued a little more firmly. “ And I did not think far 
enough ahead to see that she would marry another. 


No Fighting Chance 


355 


Because of my relations to her I somehow feel responsible 
for the girl. She is merely marrying because it is con- 
sidered the proper thing to do. She has written to me 
right along and her affections are still what they were 
when I broke the engagement. And so I — ” 

He hesitated. 

“ Good God, Meesterling ! You don’t mean — ” 

“ I am going to marry her.” 

Dr. Straatman was speechless with horror. 

Bram now spoke rapidly, backing up his resolve with 
reasons — all the arguments that he had forged out 
of his own terrible struggle. He was laboring under 
painful agitation. He was fearful that he would break 
down in his resolve. 

“ But this is absolutely idiotic and quixotic and 
damned foolishness,” cried the doctor, when Bram paid 
no attention to his arguments. 

“ If I allow Hattie and Roelof to marry, there will 
probably be many children. And you know better than 
I do what chance such children would have. If I marry 
her myself there will be no children. I’ll give her a 
home and all the comforts, but nothing more.” 

‘‘ But that will be death in life, Meesterling ; you can’t 
seriously mean it. God, man, it is horrible ! ” 

Bram made no answer, and neither did he look up. 
Unconsciously his hands gripped the seat of the buggy, 
and he kept his eyes averted from the smiling landscape. 
At the home of Chris Wanhope Vrouw Poppema opened 
the door to them. She was doing some sewing for 
Hattie. Vrouw Wanhope was in the kitchen, and Chris 
was doddering about somewhere in the barn. While 
Dr. Straatman mixed medicine for his patient Vrouw 
Poppema led Bram into the ‘‘ sittin’ room.” 


856 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ Heden! Heden! Bram,” she exclaimed, “ so long 
since I’ve seen you. And how you have changed ! ” 
Then with the frank curiosity of the community : “ And 
what might be bringin’ you out here? ” 

Bram answered her in her own tongue with some 
general remark. 

“ Still the same old Bram,” thought Vrouw Poppema 
with some asperity, “ never says no more than he has 
to.” 

“ No, Hat ain’t to home,” she said presently, in 
answer to Bram’s asking after the girl; “she’s gone 
to De Stad. Now what might you be wantin’ with 
Hat? ” 

Bram was visibly embarrassed. He did not know 
what to answer. He had planned meeting the girl 
herself, and she would understand. And here he was 
confronted by Vrouw Poppema, whose tongue had often 
made him tremble when a boy. All at once all his 
doubts of his own strength to carry out his purpose 
overwhelmed him again. He would break down. A 
panic seized him. He took a grip on himself with 
an effort. 

“ By speaking now, without further delay, I shall 
burn all my bridges,” he thought, and at the same time 
he heard himself answering the woman’s question. 

“ I’m going to marry her.” 

Vrouw Poppema was speechless with astonishment. 

“ Always thought he was a little wrong in the head,” 
she said to herself finally, almost audibly. 

And then resentment got the better of her. She did 
not know what complications the entrance of Bram on 
the scene might cause. For years she had planned and 
plotted. At last the marriage she had set her heart on 


No Fighting Chance 


357 


was about to take place. Even as it was it was not 
much of a triumph for her ; and must this “ tin minister,” 
as the people of the Five Corners were fond of calling 
him derisively, now come in and jeopardize the last 
remaining shread of triumph 

“ And what do you want to come stickin’ your nose 
in.^” she cried in exasperation. “You ain’t wanted 
here. You should have thought of this four years ago; 
then you might have been a real instead of a ‘tin * 
minister now.” 

It was useless to try to explain. And Bram was too 
miserable to make the attempt. 

She railed for some minutes, recalling old scenes and 
ruthlessly tearing open old wounds. 

Suddenly she desisted. She had thought of something, 
and she laughed in unmistakable triumph. Vrouw Pop- 
pema was not a bad woman ; but her life had been very 
narrow and circumscribed. 

“ And so you want to marry Hat.'* ” she said, and the 
words were almost a sneer — “ and so you want to 
marry her at last and bring up Roelof’s brat? ” 

And then realizing what she had said she became 
confused. Her old face, harsh and dry, became suffused 
with a deep red. 

B ram’s first impulsive thought was a very human cry 
of gladness that the cup had been taken from him, and 
then a wave of shame overwhelmed him because of his 
own littleness and selfishness. 

Some time later Dr. Straatman joined them. 

“ Good lord ! ” he exclaimed when Bram told him, 
“ it’s a crime ; nothing short of a crime. But I can’t 
help being glad for you, Meesterling. And now I 
suppose he will marry her.” 


358 


Bram of the Five Corners 


Vrouw Poppema was surprised at the bitterness of 
the tone; also at the question itself. 

‘‘ Why certainly, what else could they do ? ” 

“ Do.f* ” snapped Dr. Straatman, “ do.? They could 
leave bad enough alone without making it worse. One 
defective child is not as bad as ten or a dozen.” 

“You mean to tell me,” said Vrouw Poppema 
severely, “ that you wouldn’t have them marry ? ” 

“ Just exactly.” 

“ But that would be a sin.” 

It seemed absurd to Vrouw Poppema to have to 
answer the suggestion of Dr. Straatmari at all. 

“ Sin ! ” stormed Straatman, “ sin ! Respectability ! 
That’s where the shoe pinches. Respectability ! And 
that weighs up against the greatest crime men and 
women can commit.” 

He was speaking to Bram. Vrouw Poppema did not 
and could not understand. When later the men left 
the house she felt that she had triumphed over them. 

“ What do you think,” she said to her husband later 
in the afternoon, “ Bram Meesterling came back wantin’ 
to marry Hat! Guess that other Baptist girl in De 
Stad must have thrown him over. Serves him right, 
that’s what I say. But to come now after Hat, as 
though he owns the earth, that’s what I call schandalig.^* 

“ He might have been a minister now,” answered 
Berend sadly. He had always liked Bram. “ He was 
a smart boy. Might have been a minister, and now — 
now he’s only workin’ for such a newspaper 1 ” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


FOLLOWING THE GLEAM 

H e found her in the little garden back of the house. 

Being a woman of understanding her aunt had 
not asked him to wait in the living room while she called 
the girl; she had led him through the dining-room, 
thence through the kitchen, and to the back door. There 
she had discreetly withdrawn and had left him to his 
own devices. 

‘‘ Cordelia ! ” 

She looked up startled from the flower bed she was 
tending. Her face was flushed from bending down over 
her work, and this prevented Bram from discovering 
its pallor at first. But he did discover that the face 
had grown thinner. It was the first time he had seen 
her since the morning he had told her his story in the 
park; and the change in her was to him like a stab 
at first. And yet, the pain seemed to have some 
mystic relationship to a fierce joy that was welling up, 
unbidden and apparently without reason, in his heart. 
Her white sun-bonnet was tilted back. A long checked 
apron covered her from the shoulders downward, giving 
a suggestion of vigor coupled with a softness of line 
to the girl that made the man’s heart jump. He who 
had conquered his body as it is given few to conquer 
it, was still drawn by the eternal magnetism of sex. 
And he had no reproach for himself, because instinctively 
he felt that this magnetism is holy. 

[359 1 


360 


Bram of the Five Corners 


Unable in her surprise to say a word she was holding 
out her hand, stained with the juice of flower-stem and 
weed, particles of earth clinging to the tips of her 
fingers. Bram grasped the hand eagerly. 

Then both stood in embarrassed silence. It was so 
different from the scene Bram had imagined ! 

“Don’t I look outlandish?” she managed to say, 
forcing a laugh. 

Bram could not trust his voice to pay her a compli- 
ment, as would under ordinary circumstances have been 
the natural thing to do. He smiled nervously and began 
speaking of her flowers. 

A few moments later they were more at ease. She 
praised him for the splendid series he had been con- 
ducting the past few weeks in the Sun. He inquired 
about the progress of the settlement house that was 
being erected in the Polish district. She had led him 
to the lawn swing under the cherry tree, and she was 
now self-consciously smoothing out the wrinkles in her 
apron with her hands. She did not meet his eyes. Bram 
kept turning a plain band ring on his little finger, and 
his voice sounded faint and far away to himself. 

Because of the ver}^ fact that he was mortally afraid 
that when he should come to the real subject of his 
visit he would stammer and become confused, he com- 
pelled himself to simulate a forced calmness as though 
he were speaking of the w^eather. 

“ I came today, Cordelia, to continue the story I 
told you in the park.” 

And because the words were spoken without apparent 
emotion a great fear took possession of the girl. She 
did not know what mighty efforts the man had put 
forth to control his voice. Had he surrendered after 


Following the Gleam 


361 


all the suffering and the pain? Had he yielded at the 
last? The thought sickened her. It destroyed some- 
thing austerely beautiful in her thought life. And the 
next moment she was afraid for herself. Would she 
find strength to deny him? And yet, if she did not, a 
lifetime of self-loathing and loathing of him would 
follow. All this in the twinkling of an eye, while she 
heard herself pronouncing these words: 

“ To continue, Bram?” 

Before he could answer Bram was compelled to take 
a mental grip on himself. The preposterousness of the 
quixotic story he was about to tell overwhelmed him. 
What would the beautiful girl opposite him think of 
the death-in-life existence that he had proposed to enter 
upon? It seemed a thousand years ago that he had 
gone to the Five Corners with Dr. Straatman. That 
was in another existence — and how could the woman 
he loved ever understand such far-off things? 

“ It was only yesterday — it was only yesterday — 
it was only yesterday,” he was compelled to tell 
himself. 

Still without a tremor in his voice, but with his hands 
gripping the seat with a force that made the nails sink 
into the soft wood, he told her of Hattie’s last letter, 
of his desperate resolve, of yesterday’s trip to the Five 
Corners and its results. 

He stopped speaking and she sat looking down in 
silence. His heart sank, and the world seemed blank. 
His hands relaxed their desperate grip on the seat, and 
he felt suddenly very weak. 

“No woman could ever forgive that,” he told himself 
miserably — “ throwing myself at her, offering her what 
others would not take.” 


362 


Bram of the Five Corners 


And then he grew more calm as resignation came. 
It had been madness to come at all, after yesterday. 
He saw that now, but some strange frenzy of desire 
had driven him to her. But now that he saw it in its 
true light he would ask nothing. He had told her the 
rest of his story. The sequel was ended now. He could 
write “ Finis ” at the bottom of that page. There 
could be nothing else. A great gulf had been fixed be- 
tween them, and he could never cross over to her. 

Suddenly she looked up and he met her look. Her 
eyes were full of tears. 

“ Don’t Cordelia, please,” he pleaded. “ I did not 
come to bother you. I should not have come at all 
perhaps. I had no right to come. But I had told 
you the story of my life, and it seemed but natural to 
tell you how it ended.” 

To Bram this moment seemed the end of all things. 

“ But I will go now, Cordelia. You are in possession 
of all the facts now, and later when we are compelled 
to meet there will be no hidings of any kind.” 

“ And I thought, when you first came, that you had 
yielded.” 

Her voice was low and sweet. To Bram it was like 
oil on a wound, but to her it was charged with self- 
reproach. 

“ Oh, Bram, after all that you have been to me and 
after all I knew of your strength, I was still so small 
and so pitifully weak ! ” 

In her agitation she had risen, and now she was 
leaning for support against the cherry tree, hiding 
her face in the crook of her arm, her sun-bonnet slip- 
ping back from the rich black hair. 

“ After you had done something big and beautiful,” 


Following the Gleam 


863 


she continued, “ I could still think my little thoughts 
and have my mean little suspicions.” 

A sudden dizziness seized Bram. He swayed for a 
moment, holding on to the support of the swing. Then 
he found himself by her side, her pale, sweet face very 
close to his. 

As Aunt Sarah happened to be passing the back door 
of the kitchen, her hands covered with flour, she looked 
out to the little garden smiling in the sunshine. And 
she saw Cordelia in the arms of Bram Meesterling, her 
bosom rising and falling with long pent up sobs. The 
kindhearted woman turned away, the mist gathering in 
her own eyes. And she did not see how Cordelia finally 
looked up with a glad light in her eyes, giving herself 
with a rich abandon of joy to the man who had returned 
to her a conqueror. 

A few moments later they came into the kitchen, 
boisterous as two children at play. 

“ Aunt Sarah,” he cried gayly, “ this young lady says 
she won’t marry me unless you give us your blessing.” 

The old woman wiped her flour-covered hands on her 
apron. Half gayly, half seriously, Bram and Cordelia 
knelt on the kitchen floor. Aunt Sarah laid her hands 
on their heads, but she was too overcome with emotion 
to speak a word. A moment later she was holding the 
girl in her arms. Bram stepped into the dining-room. 

They were talking of the events of yesterday. Again 
it seemed a thousand years ago. And it seemed long, 
long ago since the hand of sorrow had touched them. 
The resiliency of youth was theirs; and their cup of 
joy, full and running over, made them forget that but 
yesterday life had seemed very tragic. 


864 


Bram of the Five Corners 


“ And yet,” said Bram, “ it has all been for nothing. 
Whatever sacrifice we have made now turns out all in 
vain.” 

“ It can never be in vain, Bram,” declared Cordelia, 
her eyes aglow. 

“ But with all my theories I could not save even one 
poor woman from herself.” 

“ But you showed all the world that you really 
believe that the law of life is also the law of God, and 
that you are willing to back your faith with life’s 
dearest possessions. That, Bram, can never be lost. 
She must suffer, and her children must suffer. But what 
you have attempted will count with all the generations 
of the world’s people that are yet to come.” 

Cordelia felt the thrill of what she was saying. She 
was straining to lay bare before him the very soul of 
her, to make clear that she understood. She felt she 
understood better than he. Something of the horror 
of what he had been about to do still lingered with him, 
and many a wound was still unhealed. 

“ And, Bram,” she continued, the passion of the sister 
of men taking possession of her, “ what you have done 
has been a great preparation. I like to think of it best 
in that way — a great preparation. Your work is aU 
before you. You have but just begun to make your 
voice heard. When in the future you speak it will not 
be a voice alone. Back of it, supporting you and sus- 
taining you, will always be this that you have lived 
through and from which you have emerged a conqueror.” 

“ It is very sweet to hear you say all this, Cordelia. 
I have waited so long.” 

She crossed over to him and made him nestle his 
head against her — motheringly. 


Following the Gleam 


865 


“ It’s because I love you, Bram, that I know all this,” 
she whispered. 

“ I can see you now as a little boy,” she said later — 
“ a little boy, timid and shy, but very serious and full 
of dreams.” 

“ Yes, I had a mighty ambition to became a poet,” 
he laughed, “ and I thought that some day I would put 
Milton in the shade ! ” 

“ And then one day a minister came to you,” sjie 
continued, refusing to enter into his merriment — ‘‘a 
minister who was ill and tired and discouraged. And 
he thought that his life was over and that all the 
sanguine dreams of his youth had ended in failure. 
But the shy little boy interested him strangely, even 
when all other interests had fallen away from him. 
And he took new courage and lived again in the thoughts 
and ambitions of this boy. And finally, when he had 
to go, he went in peace and with joy, because his real 
life had begun when he had thought it was over.” 

Bram looked up at the woman by his side with a 
kind of awe. 

“ I know, Bram,” she continued, “ I know it all as 
if I had been there. During these last weeks I have 
reconstructed the portrait of the man from the bits 
that you have given me from time to time. Before he 
died he learned that in the shy little boy, whose ambi- 
tion it was to be a poet, were infinite possibilities ; and 
because he could not accompany the little boy as he 
grew into youth and into manhood, he lighted a holy 
altar-flame in his heart. He willed passionately that 
the little boy should grow into a strong man ; and the 
altar-flame was to guide him and to be a light unto his 
feet. And then he died in peace.” 


866 . Bram of the Five Corners 


“ Yes, Cordelia, he died in peace.” 

“ And the soul of the minister who had been ill and 
tired and discouraged became to the shy little boy a 
star. It became the Gleam that always seemed to invite 
him to follow. And the boy grew into youth and then 
into manhood, and the Gleam was still there. It led 
him into the abyss, but the man followed. He followed 
because the simple minister had willed it. His has been 
the faith greater than that which removes mountains. 
His faith had created an ideal that can never die.” 

He sat very still, thrilled by the touch of her, full of 
gladness at the low sweet voice reconstructing his life 
before him. 

“ You have followed the Gleam, Bram,” she went 
on ; “ you have followed it all alone, when there was no 
one to understand you. You have followed it alone 
all these years ; but from now on we will follow it 
together ! ” 


THE END 




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